Changing Toward Love
by Anthy2
Summary: When ignoring his heart causes Peter to change in ways that terrify him, he visits Wendy- after being apart for 5 years. But is he returning to the girl he remembers? Romance, but it's not fluffy. UPDATED AFTER AN ETERNITY with Chapter 17!
1. Wishing

  
**_Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Obviously, a love story, although I'm not sure if it should end happily or sadly. This bit is important: this fanfiction is based on the _new movie_, Peter Pan. I haven't read the book yet, though I plan to, and therefore, if my story isn't completely accurate, just correct me. Hmm ... yes, well, I saw the movie, and I just ... I thought it was so beautiful. I had that aaargh, no, it can't end like that! feeling after it was over, and so, I turned to writing. This is a pet-fic, meaning that I'm not devoted to it. (I really only commit to writing fanfics when I realize that they bring pleasure to others, and therefore I have to go on. ^^) I'm not sure if this will go over well or not, but I like it, and I hope you will too! Much loves, Anthy.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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It's ... lovely, Mother, Wendy said softly, trailing her hand across the silky baby blue pillowcase, trimmed in elegant lace. She blinked, lifting her eyes to the rest of the room.  
  
The thought that this was to be her new bedroom startled her. It was so very ... formal. Everything seemed prim and ladylike, prettily arranged in its proper place. Already she missed the swords and costumes strewn across the floor of the nursery, the dirty clothes left messily about. How would she sleep properly without the quiet snores of Michael and John, and her new brothers?  
  
I knew you would like it, dear, said Mrs. Darling, standing proudly in the doorway. Your aunt and I decorated it ourselves.  
  
I would never have guessed, Wendy whispered quietly, sitting herself down precariously on the edge of the soft bed.  
  
It really is time that you had your own room, her mother continued, walking toward her daughter with a smile. And what with your new brothers ... there's not an inch of space for you left in the nursery!  
  
Wendy smiled a bit at this, thinking of the three new beds, one for every two of the Lost Boys, that they'd had to cram into the nursery room. It was even more of a mess now, what with no longer having proper space for all the children's toys.  
  
Her mother mistook her small smile for one having to do with the new bedroom, and she beamed, closing the space between herself and Wendy.  
  
You really are growing up, aren't you, she said gently, lightly putting her arms around her daughter's shoulders. Ever since you returned home with Michael and John and ... mhm, everyone ... you've seemed so much ... older. Oh, my little girl, Wendy ...  
  
She leaned into her mother's embrace, closing her eyes. Yes, she had seemed older and more ladylike since returning home. She'd been quiet and distant, something her aunt had taken as respect for adult conversation. She still played with the boys, but found she couldn't for long. Even just five minutes of swordplay left some part of her feeling drained, empty.  
  
She could hardly bear to continue even her role as storyteller, one the Lost Boys especially insisted she play. Stories about Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty had become, seemingly overnight, achingly sad. And when the boys begged for her to recount their adventures in Neverland, everything inside her seemed to still, wiped blank like writing on a chalkboard.  
  
said her mother suddenly, pulling away. I'll let you put on your bedthings and go to sleep. Sweet dreams, dear.  
  
Sleep well, Wendy said absently, watching her mother turn and walk out the door into the bright hallway, closing the door with a polite click as she did so. She stood and slowly began to unbutton the back of her dress, breathing out with relief as she did so. Her new clothes had been another grand inspiration of her aunt's ... although she had become much more lenient, and, to be truthful, human with the coming of her adopted son.  
  
Wendy slipped a clean white nightgown over her free body and pulled back her covers, crawling into bed with a contented sigh. When she had sunk into the feather mattress enough to feel warm and comfortable, she turned toward the part of her new room that she liked best.  
  
It was a large window that faced the London sky, allowing moonlight in to pool onto the bedcovers like shimmering pearl water, lighting up the bedroom even in the darkest hours of the night. Wendy sighed again, though this time, it was not contented.  
  
The window was unlocked. She was certain it was, for she had made sure of that fact several times over before her mother had come in to check on her. Still, she had begun to wonder ... was it time to forget this painful daily ritual?  
  
Perhaps he would never return.  
  
When she, her brothers and the lost boys had seen Peter that final time, hovering just outside their window, she had thought it only a temporary good-bye. She had thought, somehow, that he would be there again the next night, or the night after that. She had thought he would be back soon, eager to visit her ... or at least, her and his boys.  
  
She told them stories with special enthusiasm and an unnecessarily loud voice, hoping that he was floating just outside the window, listening, waiting for the perfect moment to fly in and surprise them all.  
  
But the weeks had passed ... and with each new night, her stories became duller, and quieter ... as did she. She tugged on corsets without complaint, and no longer drew endless pages of drawings of her travels. She grew soft and withdrawn- polite and ladylike, in some people's eyes- pretending sorrowfully that she was forgetting because she wanted so badly for that to be true. She wanted to forget. She wished, sometimes, that the adventure had never taken place. She feared it had changed her in ways too deep to be good or natural, feared that her melancholy change would last forever.  
  
This wish never lasted long, however. Deep down, she cherished her memories of the adventure. There was a wish she felt much more deeply, a wish she grieved for nearly every night.  
  
She wished she had known that he would not return. She wished that, on that final night, she had not called out to him to remember her, but rather to stay, to stay! Stay and live as my brother, Peter Pan ... stay and let me care for you ... stay and let me love you ... stay and ... never leave me to be alone like this again ...  
  
she whispered softly, blinking away her tears. She turned from the moonlit window with a muffled groan, willing it all away. She prayed for the terrible aching hole inside herself to shrink away in time, prayed for the cheerfulness, the carefree joy she'd had just weeks before to return.  
  
It had been two months since she had last seen Peter Pan, and the details of his face were becoming blurry, unfocused ... the memories of his voice were already becoming soft and distant and run all together ... she had to think hard to return just how his smile had curved in that certain way, had to strain to remember the exact wording of the things he had said to her.  
  
She was forgetting the adventure, losing her memories slowly to time, while at the same time, the hole inside herself was gnawing away at her faster and faster, draining her from the inside out.  
  
She prayed, silently, for one thing above all.  
  
Wendy whimpered, tossing her head on the pillow, her auburn hair pooled around her pale, moonlit face. Pe... ter .. please .. come .. back ... to .. me ... ... ...  
  
... ... ... ... and Wendy dreamed, for the countless night in a row, of her simple wish coming true.  
  
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-- End Chapter One --  
  
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**Ending Notes**: It's so sad, isn't it? Poor Wendy. I ate about 90 little Dove chocolate squares writing this fic, and I wrote Chapters One, Two and Three on them. Woot.  
  
Reviews make me care about when I update, so if you care, review. ^^ Heh, that sounds mean. Ignore me. Thank you for reading, loves! Go see the movie and melt in the goodness! Like the chocolate in my mouth right now! Reviews are Dove chocolate to my heeeart ...


	2. The Window

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Annnd Chapter Two. I had nicer Authoress notes for this chapter, but I lost the file. *tear* So, yeah, these are the ... lamer Authoress notes. Hmm. Well, thank you for reading! I love you, reader whom I do not know! I really appreciate your reading this. ^^  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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Five Years Later  
  
  
I had to find it. I had to find the window.  
  
Nearly every window in London was dark and shut tight, and in the darkness it was difficult to see anything, let alone the random details I could recall of the monuments that lead to that certain street. The certain street that housed the certain building with the large window that was the entrance to the room where I had first found her, first pushed her red-brown hair away from her face and brushed my fingertips against her lips and cheek.  
  
She had looked so curious then, so ... impossible not to touch. She was like Tink, like a fairy, only with no wings and no sparkle, and much, much bigger. She was pale and less pretty, without all the glitter, but pretty in a different way. She was like the mermaids, that stared into your eyes until you followed them into the water to your death. It was impossible to not touch her. It had been impossible not to take her home.  
  
I couldn't remember exactly what she looked like now, though. I had thought about Wendy a lot for a very long time, especially just before I went to sleep, but over time her face had gotten all blurry, smeared. Remembering her face was like trying to paint in water now. I could remember little parts, though- like how her eyes were very blue, and how her lips were more curved than mine, and more pink. And every once in a while, I can remember her laugh, hear it in the wind that blows through the trees.  
  
It doesn't matter anymore whether or not I can remember what she looks like, though, because I'll be seeing her again in a few minutes, and then I'll remember it all perfectly. I just have to find the street, and then the house, and then the window.  
  
How long had it been since I had seen her? I knew that time went by much faster in Neverland, even though at the same time, it stopped it. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd taken her with me. Had it been a year, maybe?   
  
At first, I came back often. I would go to the window (after finding it easily), and I would watch her tell stories. She would wildly swing a sword as she did so, or dance with one of the Lost Boys when Cinderella was dancing with the Prince. I would wish, then, that I was in there, dancing with Wendy, and I would reach my hand to the bottom of the window.  
  
I never could open it, though.  
  
I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but I was much too afraid. Wendy meant change, and feelings. When I looked at her laugh and dance and smile at happy endings, I felt as though something inside me was expanding, growing and just getting bigger and bigger, to the point that I feared it would burst. The growing feeling would always change to a feeling that knawed at me, made my chest ache like I'd been running for too long. It was worse, though, because it was inside of me, and the more I watched Wendy, the worse it got.  
  
I was scared to open the window, and so I never did. I knew, though, that when the aching stopped, I could, and then I would greet everyone again.  
  
That's why I kept coming to London and to the window to watch Wendy, to hear the stories that I'd heard many times in her voice, stories that never seemed to get old. I was waiting for the ache to go away, so that I could open the window. As I waited, though, the stories became shorter and shorter.  
  
Wendy would want to sit in a chair near the window instead of standing and acting everything out with swordplay and dancing. She didn't act so much anymore, only used her hands, and after awhile, even that became rare. Her voice changed, too. She always sounded tired, and a little bit disappointed, like she didn't want to be telling stories at all.  
  
Sometimes, she wouldn't even tell a story. She wouldn't play with the boys. She would just tuck them into bed and kiss their cheeks and tell them good-night; no stories or fun. When she did this, after the boys were all asleep, she would go to the rocking chair and just sit there, staring up at the sky until finally, she would go off to bed.  
  
I realize then something that I had forgotten.  
  
Even though I had no mother or father, I knew what they did from watching the Darlings. The mother tucked the children into bed, and she never played with them, just watched. When a mother told stories, she told them in the quiet, boring way that Wendy did now, sitting instead of pretending and laughing. Mothers, like all adults, always sound tired, and rarely sound eager and excited. And most of all, mothers sit in rocking chairs and stare, thinking on and on into the night instead of spending their time playing or having fun.  
  
I knew then that Wendy had become like her mother. She'd changed into her- she had grown up. I knew that if Wendy had grown up, she'd forgotten me- forgotten our adventure and our time together. That was why she no longer told our story. She'd grown up and forgotten me, because I was a thing of her childhood, and she had become a woman. She longer needed her memories of me. She had forgotten.  
  
That's when I stopped coming to the window. I went back to Neverland and I stayed there, fighting the odd pirate, though nothing had been quite the same without Hook around, and conversing with the Indians and mermaids. Without the boys, though, everything had become much less fun, much less quiet. I thought for a long time about finding new Lost Boys, but some part of me told me that was wrong to do. What if they ended up leaving, too, as Wendy had?  
  
Wendy. The aching that I mentioned before only got worse after I stopped going to the window. It filled me up inside with so much soreness that I couldn't sleep sometimes. I lay awake at night, thrashing and moaning, and when I did sleep, I dreamed.  
  
I dreamed of Wendy in a nursery, only not the one in the Darling house. It was a different one, with only a crib instead of the five beds. And Wendy- she was all grown-up, a woman in a long blue dress, and she was holding a baby in her arms. Back and forth, back and forth, rocking the baby, singing a little song while she laughed and smiled. She looked the way she did when she was telling a story, though I knew she wasn't- she was just living out her own.  
  
And there was always, always a man there, standing next to her. He was tall and ugly, like Captain Hook, and he smiled at the baby too. I knew as soon as I woke up who he was. He was the man that Hook had broken me inside with. He was a husband.  
  
After those dreams, the ache got worse and worse. When I went out into Neverland, though, and did normal things, I would sometimes forget about it. In that way, I could have stayed in Neverland forever, until the ache went away. I honestly believed that it would. I did believe it would- that is, until it happened.  
  
The changing happened.  
  
It wasn't all at once. It happened over a long period of time, probably years. First, my voice started to change. It got lower, more like the waves than the wind. And then, I realized I was getting bigger, especially taller. After awhile, I had to curl up my legs just to fit in my bed. And then, my face ... changed. It looked the same, but different. It wasn't supposed to ever look different.  
  
And when my head hit the top of the door of the tree hideout, I knew I couldn't pretend anymore. I knew I could no longer ignore it. Neverland had lost its magic. I, Peter Pan, was growing up. I was becoming a man, the thing that I wanted the least in the world to be. I was terrified.  
  
It didn't take me long to figure out why. I knew what had made me grow and change. It was that strange, endless soreness inside me- that was to blame. And I knew the source, the cause of the ache. The ache was, and always had been, because of Wendy.  
  
I knew that she was the only way I could make myself stop growing up. I had to go see her.   
  
And so I left Neverland behind and once again flew here, to London, a place that I had avoided for a very long time. In the darkness, I searched out the clock, and then the street, and then the house, and finally, I found it. The window, still the same, and still unlocked.  
  
I hovered outside it, and reaching my hands down, I opened it with a quiet straining sound. Wendy was inside this window, and Wendy ... quiet, grown-up Wendy ... would tell me how to make myself stay as Peter Pan.  
  
As I lifted up the window, the thought of Wendy suddenly hit me. I felt panic all of a sudden, a strange panic that made me sweat. Perhaps Wendy ... had not grown up. There was a chance, wasn't there, that I'd seen the wrong thing? Maybe, maybe, she was still the girl I left behind.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, she remembered me, and had been telling my story again after I had stopped coming to the window. Maybe she still played with swords and danced and told stories to the boys. Maybe, she was still my Wendy.  
  
I opened the window all the way, and found myself hovering just in front of the old, familiar nursery.  
  
Please, I found myself thinking. Please let Wendy be the girl I remember.  
  
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-- End Chapter Two --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: So much can change in five years time ... heh. The past can be a troubling thing. It haunts you always.  
  
I love reviews, even though I don't have any for this story yet. (I'm going to post Chapters One, Two and Three at the same time. It's no fun to read a too-short fanfic. Frustrating, don't you think?) I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please review, and if you don't, read Chapter Three anyway. ^^


	3. Inevitable Change

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Numero Three already. ... I'm a liar, I wrote everything up to this point in one big chuck. Heh. Well, enjoy it! I think this is the longest chapter yet. Much love to everyone who reads this. I adore you. *hugs you* Have a wooonderful day, all right?  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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I flew into the nursery as quietly as I could, floating down to the floor silently. I winced when I realized that one of my feet had landed on the blade of a strange blunt sword. I stepped off it and bent down, picking it up and holding it in front of me.  
  
It was light as air, and as such I knew that it wasn't made of metal. I tossed it up a few times- wood. Wood covered in some kind of shiny gray paint that was supposed to resemble metal.  
  
Pathetic, I thought, throwing it aside. That sword could barely pierce a piece of rotten fruit.  
  
I realized half a second later that I had somehow managed to through the pathetic fake sword into a pile of other equally pretend playthings, causing it to fall apart in an earthquake-like rumble. The body in the bed nearest to it groaned and turned over, mumbling something I couldn't make out.  
  
I walked over to the bed, noticing when I reached its side the circular glasses on the nightstand. This must be ... John's bed. I leaned forward, trying to make out the dark face.  
  
He looked very different, that was for sure. His hair was still messy and black, but it framed a changed face, one that I realized, with a cold shiver up my spine, was nearly the face of a man. Still, it was John, and from what I could remember of John, he was harmless. Even if he was a few feet taller ...  
  
I said, reaching out to poke him rudely in the chest, Hey, John. Wake up.  
  
He groaned and stirred, but did not wake up. I raised an eyebrow in irritation and poked him even harder. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times.  
  
And with the fifth very un-gentle poke, his eyelids fluttered open. He groaned again and sat up in the darkness. I watched him, amused, as he slapped his hand on the nightstand for his glasses. He finally found them, put them on, and then blinked. Once, twice. Three times.  
  
And with the forth blink, he finally saw me, and yelped like a kicked dog.  
  
An ... an intruder!, he cried out, pointing in my general area of darkness. Fiend! How dare you enter our home! I'll ... I'll kill you before you hurt any of my brothers!  
  
And with that, he jumped out of bed, grabbed the crappy excuse for a sword that I'd just carelessly threw aside, and pointed it about twenty degrees to the left of my head.  
  
I laughed. He was noble, I had to admit that. No wonder Princess Tiger Lily had gone on and on about him for months after his departure.  
  
Kill Pan?, I mocked, drawing my very sharp dagger and hovering several feet into the air and shifting into a dramatic fighting stance,   
  
P.. Peter?, John chocked, slowly lowering his sword.  
  
None other, I said with a smirk.  
  
Peter ... Pan?, he asked again, his eyes wide.  
  
Heh, glad you remember me, I said, replacing my dagger at my side.  
  
he cried out. I can't believe it's you! It's been ... oh ... Christ! Peter!  
  
And with that very loud outburst, he stumbled to his right and flipped on the overhead light of the nursery.  
  
A few seconds later, several loud groans filled the nursery, and someone threw a very, very familiar teddybear at John's head.  
  
What's the matter with you, John?, a boy in the bed across from him whined. It's bloody three in the morning!  
  
You crazy?, someone else mumbled loudly, his head buried in his pillow. It's Saturday, you idiot. We get to sleep in this mmmorning ...  
  
John yelped, It's PETER! PETER'S HERE!  
  
the boy in the bed next to John's questioned quietly. I recognized him immediately as Michael- his red hair was unmistakable- even though he looked much, much older. I frowned at this, but smiled again when I saw the teddy bear lying abused on the floor near John's feet. He was Michael's, too. The brave teddy bear warrior ...  
  
You don't mean ... Peter ... Pan?, Michael said, sitting up in bed. Awe, John. You were just dreamin' ... get back to bed.  
  
John said, pointed wildly in my direction. No, look! LOOK! It's Peter, it's no dream, it's PETER PAN!  
  
And slowly, seven pairs of messy-haired heads turned in my direction. Then, they all grinned widely, screamed, and herded toward me.  
  
I laughed as I was nearly run over by the old Lost Boys and Michael, all of which crowded around me, groping at me wildly while yelping and screaming my name.  
  
Peter! You came back! You came back!!  
  
Peter, I didn't think you would ever come visit us!  
  
PETER! Is it really you?!  
  
Peter, where's Tink?! PETER!  
  
PETER! I thought you forgot about us!  
  
I frowned at this as a strange, very heavy feeling filled me.  
  
I said loudly, reaching down to ruffle the dark hair of the boy that had thought I'd forgotten him. Looking him over, I recognized him as Nibs, though he was, like everyone, much bigger, much taller, and very much older. He grinned up at me, eager for my attention.  
  
I continued, I would never forget my boys.  
  
There a great deal of pleasurable noise at this- laughter and cries of joy and yelps of surprise all mixed together- and then, slowly, the boys around me stepped back and gave me room to breathe.  
  
Why didn't you come back sooner, Peter?, a boy that I recognized as Slightly asked me. We ... we missed you.  
  
said another boy, one who I knew immediately as Cubby, We thought you would never come.  
  
repeated Michael. We thought...  
  
I ... I don't want to talk of that now, I said, very quickly. I just ... I came here ... where is Wendy?  
  
The boys suddenly fell very silent at this mention of their older sister. I frowned at this; they were all acting as though she had died. My heart seized at this, and cold sweat filled my palms; Wendy was still here, wasn't she? She hadn't gone away, had she? Nothing had happened to her ... right? I froze, finding it suddenly very hard to breathe.  
  
Wendy ... Wendy is here, isn't she?, I asked the suddenly very quiet, very sullen boys.  
  
said Michael, very slowly. She sleeps in a different room now, though. It's next to this one. She moved out a long, long time ago.  
  
I know, I said quietly. I had watched her leave the nursery to sleep many, many times in the past. Why ... why are you so quiet about her?  
  
My heart was pounding; I had never seen the Lost Boys look so sullen. My hope that Wendy was still the beautiful girl I'd been kissed by was draining very quickly from my suddenly weak body.  
  
We ... we don't know if you want to see Wendy, Nibs said softly. She's ... she's different now, you know?  
  
Different how?, I asked, feeling that something in my chest twist tighter and tighter. My breathing was harder and heavier, I realized absently.  
  
She wears a corset, Cubby chimed in quietly.  
  
What's a corset?, I asked, puzzled.  
  
It's this thing, Michael began to explain, That ladies wear to make themselves look thinner. Our aunt makes her wear one, like her and mother. It gets so tight that you can't breathe.  
  
One time, our aunt grew purple, and then fainted, John said with a slight laugh. I realized that he had not moved toward me, and was still standing near his bed, looking very uncomfortable and shy.  
  
That ... l-ladies wear?, I questioned. I didn't want my Wendy to be a lady. Wendy was a _girl_.  
  
said Michael. But Peter, she's ... she's different now.  
  
said Nibs, She only wears a corset because she doesn't care about growing up or not. She doesn't play with us anymore, Peter. She doesn't try to stay young.  
  
She's very quiet now, said Slightly softly.  
  
She never tells us stories anymore, Peter!, Cubby cried out quietly, his eyes downfallen.  
  
She's ... she's been sad for a long time, Michael began, frowning. She doesn't like to tell us stories about you anymore, because it ... it makes her sad. Sometimes, after she tucks us into bed and she thinks we're all asleep, she'll sit in the rocking chair and stare up at the sky, and she'll cry there. She'll cry for so long, we think she won't be able to stop.  
  
I winced, feeling my entire body tighten. The thought of Wendy crying sent a deep shiver through my chest, calling forth the old, terrible ache. I suddenly wanted to hurt myself somehow, to punish myself for making her shed tears.  
  
She misses you, Peter, John said softly from his position near his bed. She thought you would come back, like we all did.  
  
I did come back, I thought, knowing where I was standing.  
  
John replied. Much, much sooner ...  
  
I frowned, reaching down to my side and groping for the lumpy package that I knew was still there.  
  
And that's not the worst of it, Peter, Michael began, Our mother and father have been talking about how Wendy needs to start thinking about-  
  
I said suddenly, speaking not from my mind, but from someplace deep inside me. Please stop. I ... I need to speak to Wendy. Where is her room again?  
  
She's in the room next to this one, Nibs said quietly. Go into the hall, and then go right, and it's the closest door.  
  
I said, and I turned to leave, but was frozen when I realized that eight pairs of eyes were staring at me.  
  
I turned back slowly, realizing that in turning toward the door, I had stepped into the light.  
  
Slightly whispered quietly. You're ... you grew up.  
  
I... I haven't, I said, nearly whispering myself. Not all the way.  
  
No eyes turned from me, all wide and staring.  
  
Why didn't you stay young, Peter?, Michael said, his jaw dropping slightly. Weren't ... weren't you in Neverland all this time?  
  
I answered wearily, wanting increasingly to leave the room- to see Wendy, at last.  
  
Then ... how come you ..., Nibs asked in a very soft, wondering voice.  
  
I only know, I replied, my chest feeling suddenly very heavy again, That ... that it has something to do with Wendy. That's why I came back, because Wendy ... she can make this stop.  
  
This was met with staring silence, the same silence that had fallen over the boys at the mention of their sister's name.  
  
I'm sure it does have to do with Wendy, John said suddenly, and he looked at me in such a strong, searching way that I knew he knew more than I did, that he saw something I couldn't see. I frowned, staring back at him. He was seeing through me, and the feeling of needing to run away grew more intense.  
  
I need to see Wendy, I said suddenly. I'll ... I'll come back, all right?  
  
I waited for no replies. With the boys staring at my back as I went, I hovered a few inches into the air and flew toward the nursery door, opening it and disappearing into the hall. I turned to my right and flew only a few feet, and there, right in front of me, was it. The door to Wendy's bedroom.  
  
I landed in front of the door, reaching for the doorknob with a hand that was trembling in a very strange way. The ache of the past years grew a thousand times with the knowing that Wendy was behind that door, the knowing that I would be seeing her for the first time in so long.  
  
The ache also grew more terrible, deeper in pain than ever. The thought of Wendy crying for me felt like a sword inside me, carving bloody words into my insides. I never wanted her to cry, especially for me. I wanted to _keep_ her _from_ crying ... I wanted to take out my dagger and carve my apology into my arm, I wanted so badly to hurt myself for hurting her.  
  
What if she hated me for not returning, I asked myself as a hard lump formed in my throat. What if she really had become a woman, with corsets and rocking chairs? I hated that thought. I had wanted her to be my Wendy, my beautiful fairy-human girl Wendy forever and always, just the same as my memories, never changing, always my Wendy.  
  
But instead, she had changed, and without even being there she had somehow made me change, both inside and out, in horrible, aching ways that had tortured me for hours, days, long strings of days. She had changed everything about my world and what I thought I knew and wanted. Wendy could never stay the same always, because she wasn't Neverland. She was just the opposite. She was change itself.  
  
I swallowed the hard lump, reaching for the door with my mind and heartbeat racing. I wondered, absently ... had she kept the kiss I had given her, the one with the hole from the arrow?  
  
I closed my sweaty fingers around the doorknob and turned it slowly, swallowing my fears. I knew that we had both somehow changed, but now, knowing that I would see her again, I could suddenly only think ... had what mattered stayed the same?  
  
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-- End Chapter Three --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: I'm so exciiited! The next chapter is total Peter and Wendy confrontation. I won't reveal anything other than my excitement. Everything has been leading up to Chapter Four.  
  
Reviews are STILL so cool. Go on, review. You know you want to. Heh. Well, if you don't want to, okay. I do hope you stick around for Chapter Four anyway, though ... *grins*.


	4. Don't Lie to Me, Dream Peter

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Chapter Four! This is a really honest chapter ... not so happy, though ... it still focuses heavily on the past. I was so happy ... I have reviewers! ;_; -- happy tears! Thank you so much for taking the time to review my story. I greatly appreciate it. I'm eager to write the next chapter ... it, too, is Peter and Wendy confrontation ... mmm'hmm! Thanks again for reading and reviewing. Much love to you, darling readers!  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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_I'm so tired of being here...  
Surpressed by all my childish fears ...  
And if you have to leave ... I wish that you would just leave ...  
Cause your presense still lingers here ...  
And it won't leave me alone ...  
  
These wounds won't seem to heal ...  
This pain is just too real ...  
There's just too much that time cannot erase ...  
_  
-- Lyrics from My Immortal by Evanesence,  
... the song I listened to over and over and over while writing this chapter.  
  
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As my fingers tightened around the cold metal doorknob, I found I couldn't think. Every one of my thoughts was evaporating rapidly into thin air, replaced by that very familiar, terrible ache inside, the ache that had been screaming at me for years to do this- to return for Wendy- but that I had avoided for so long in fear.  
  
I twisted the doorknob, praying that the sullen Lost Boys had been wrong. Wendy was just the same, always just the same. She would be sleeping inside this door, her slender body curled up under the covers, dreaming of having grand adventures, of danger and excitement. She would look just the same as I remembered, and she would look at me with the same playful, and yet unnervingly calm eyes. It was the calmness in her blue eyes that had always drawn me, always made my thoughts freeze as she smiled at me.   
  
I had thought then that all girls had that calm, captivating depth in their eyes, but as time had passed and those eyes were one of the only things that I was able to remember of her, I couldn't help but wonder if only Wendy had that certain blue calm inside. The longer I'd been away from her, the more things I realized were not traits of girls, but unique sparks of Wendy.  
  
Tink and Princess Tiger Lily didn't have lips that were full and always so warm-looking, even from far away. Their smiles didn't curve up in that certain way, and their hair never pooled around their shoulders in soft waves as Wendy's had. She was very different from all the other girls I'd known. She was, and always had been, the only Wendy to ever be.  
  
I felt my heart clench painfully again. If Wendy had truly changed as the boys had told me, then maybe she'd lost all the special things that had made her so impossible not to touch. Maybe all her tears had washed away the blue sparkle of playfulness in her eyes, erased the calm that had frozen everything inside me when I looked at her. And maybe her smile didn't curve up anymore, but rather curved down. Perhaps even her hair had gotten sad, limp and dull instead of soft and flowing.  
  
The door clicked. I swallowed that same hard lump in my throat- I would see for myself. I would find out what had become of my forever and always Wendy.  
  
I flew into the room silently, hovering only inches above the floor. The first thing I noticed was that compared to the nursery, it was nearly empty. There was a wooden dresser with a large, framed mirror over it, and a polished cedar wardrobe, and a small nightstand with a dark lamp.   
  
There were no toys strewn about, no mess at all. If I had not known it was her room, I would have thought it her mother's, or some other woman's. This thought sent a cold chill through me. Wendy was not a woman, I chanted in my mind. Wendy was a fairy-girl with blue eyes and skin like the moon, a storyteller, the first girl I'd known to brandish a sword nearly as well as me, the only girl who had ever given me her ...  
  
She was lying just there, in the bed, buried under light blue blankets that seemed shiny in the moonlight. It pooled over her bed, seemingly spotlighting it so that all the rest of the room seemed especially dark. But ... I couldn't go over there, to her bed, just yet. I needed just a little bit more time.  
  
I floated around slowly, touching everything with hands that suddenly seemed too dirty to use. Everything was very polished, clean, without mark or mistake, and nowhere was there clutter or mess. This especially disturbed me; it seemed as though she barely lived at all in this perfect bedroom.  
  
I stopped when I reached the dresser, for on top of it, sitting ominously, was Wendy's little chest. I remembered that when I had first given her my kiss, she'd run over to it to fetch a chain, the chain she'd used to string my kiss around her neck. That chest seemed strangely old now, half-hidden in the shadows.  
  
I reached for it and opened the lid, dipping my fingers inside. I searched, tangling my hand in rows of delicate necklaces and sharp earrings, even a string of tiny pearls that glowed in the moonlight. My kiss, however, was nowhere to be found. I knew that if Wendy had saved it, she would have put it in her little chest for safekeeping.  
  
And it was not there.  
  
I winced as a horrible vision overwhelmed me. You've forgotten me, Peter Pan!,' Wendy would yell out into the night sky, and with a sharp snap she would rip the chain from her neck and throw my kiss out through her window, out into the dark London street.  
  
Thinking of this, of the first thing I had given her being thrown away in pain, made everything inside me tighten and twist. It was much too easy for me to imagine this, believe it could happen. Much too easy.  
  
And then it happened. I turned toward her bed, and just as I did, she stirred, shifting her head from the curve of the pillow to the pool of moonlight around her. My jaw dropped slightly; I was seeing Wendy for the first time in a very, very long time.  
  
I flew toward the side of her bed, never taking my eyes from her. From a distance, she looked very much like the Wendy I had left behind. I felt the tightness in my throat returning; nearing her, she began to appear different. Her face was more oval than it had been before, less round, but her eyes and lips were still placed on it just the same.   
  
And her skin ... it was still pale like the moon, milky like the string of pearls in her little chest. Without realizing it, I closed the distance between us so that I was now hovering just next to her nightstand ... her hair, I thought. It still pooled around her hair in gentle waves.   
  
I reached out my hand, touching a wave of warm auburn; it was still so soft. I let my hand run down through it, reveling in the silkiness that was so unlike my toughened palm. And her lips ... they were still full and pink, still so warm-looking from far away ... the soft lips she'd kissed me with.  
  
I lifted my hand from stroking her hair, touching my fingertips instead to her warm cheek, still pale and soft, skin glowing in the moonlight ... and as I did this, felt her warm, steady breath on my wrist, watched her chest rise and fall in unbreaking rhythm, it all came flooding into me.  
  
Everything that I had been running from for so long came rushing into me in one great, powerful wave, flowing through me and swallowing my entire self with longing- that same terrible, miserable ache that was also sweet, insatiable pleasure.   
  
My Wendy. She was still my Wendy, I knew that now, even if it was only in the honesty of her sleep. The air around her still shimmered with invisible pixie dust; it was Wendy-dust, the glitter that always hovered around her, always shown around her like pale sunbeams. She was still a fairy-girl, still Wendy.  
  
But she was different, too.  
  
I could tell that she had grown. Her face had changed, and her body had changed ... but strangely, I liked it. Her body was bigger, yes, but it was also full of gentle curves that I knew had not been there before. They were like the smooth curves of a fairy's wing, hugging her body so that it seemed to flow underneath the blankets like the waves that flowed up over the sand. She had changed, and she had grown.  
  
But looking at her ... for the first time, the thought of growing up didn't frighten me, or disgust me. Wendy's growing older had made her different, yes, but it was a different that was also so ... beautiful. She was still so beautiful, and that meant that growing older had somehow, miraculously made even Wendy _more_ like a shimmering fairy.  
  
I smiled then, I really smiled. The terrible ache still swelled in my chest, but I didn't care, because Wendy was still soft and warm and ... Wendy.  
  
I wondered then if her eyes still had that playfulness, or that deep blue calm. I had to know; I had to talk to Wendy again. It was hard to tear my fingertips away from her cheek, but somehow, I did, and I moved my hand to her shoulder.  
  
Gently, I pushed. I shook her as softly as I could, in sharp contrast to the rude way I had poked John awake. Once, twice, a third little push. A fourth.  
  
And then, quietly, she moaned and stirred.  
  
I froze, suddenly startled. Before, she'd been like a breathing picture, pretty and shimmering, but not real. And now, she was awakening, about to open her blue eyes, and somehow, that amazed me.  
  
Cold sweat filled the palms of my hands again. I pushed a fifth time.  
  
Wake up, Wendy, I whispered. Hey ... please, wake up.  
  
I shook her again, swallowing the hard lump that had returned to my throat. She moaned again, and her body twisted slightly. Another moan, and then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.  
  
Oh god, I thought, looking into them. They were still deep blue, still alive with the spark of life, the shimmering spark that only Wendy's eyes seemed to carry. I was suddenly frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.  
  
H-Hey Wendy, I whispered, feeling my body lift up unconsciously. I hovered over her bed, aligning my body so that it was parallel to hers, only my head was a foot or two back from hers. I couldn't bear to look directly down into those eyes.   
  
Wendy blinked several times, still mostly asleep.  
  
It's me, I continued to whisper. Peter Pan. You remember me ... don't you?  
  
she questioned softly, her eyelashes still fluttering.  
  
Oh god, that voice. I'd forgotten that voice so long ago ... it was sweet, and full, and resonating, even though it was so soft ... how could I have forgotten it at all?  
  
I said in one quiet breath. It's me, Peter. Do you remember me, Wendy?  
  
She blinked a final time, and then, her eyes stayed open. She stared into me, searching me. I froze, hovering above her body in midair. Those eyes swept through me, reaching parts of me that even I had to fight to find.  
  
And then, as I felt my entire body stiffen with nervousness, her pretty lips curled into that same gentle smile.  
  
Of course I remember you, she said with kind, distant eyes. Peter Pan.  
  
I found myself saying, all other thoughts being wiped away in her stare. Heh, I ... I ... oh, Wendy. You still look ... like a fairy ... I don't think I ever told you that I thought that, but you're like ...  
  
But Peter, Wendy mumbled suddenly, her eyes still intent on me. You ... _you_ look so different tonight.  
  
To ... tonight?, I asked. I realized suddenly how distant the look in her eyes was.  
  
she said in response, and I found my body suddenly freezing once again as she raised her hand and sleepily pressed it half on my cheek, half in my hair. Yes, quite different ... if I ... didn't know better ... I would think that you had ... grown up.  
  
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Did she want me to still look the same?, I asked myself, the cold sweat still flowing. What did she think of me ... now?  
  
I found myself saying, shocked at the pleading tone of my own, usually so proud voice.  
  
But we both know ... that is ... impossible, Wendy continued to mumble. Peter Pan is the boy who ... never ... grows up, not .. ever ...  
  
Until you, Wendy, I whispered, hearing my voice tremble. Didn't she understand that all this was _her_ doing? Did she realize what she had done to me?  
  
Wendy moaned again, her eyelids fluttering open and closed. I thought for a moment that maybe, she hadn't heard me. Oh ... mmm. Peter.  
  
I'm here, I said quietly. What was wrong with her? She seemed so ... completely ... out of it.  
  
she whispered, slurring my name. Come ... here.  
  
I froze as the hand she had half-tangled in my hair tightened and tugged. The twisting inside me tightened harder than ever as I breathed out, suddenly feeling more scared than I ever had in my life. I gave in ... I let her pull my floating body toward her.  
  
And to my shock, she wrapped her warm arms around me, pulling my head so close to her that part of my cheek brushed against hers.  
  
I found I could no longer breath, and panting, I waited ... waited for her to say something first. Moments passed ... but nothing. And then, right into my ear, she made a sound as though she were choking.  
  
A moment later, I felt warm water dripping onto my face, half-hidden in her hair.  
  
Oh no, no, I thought. The ache in my chest exploded, attacking my sore heart from every angle. My Wendy was crying, sobbing, into me.  
  
I whispered, unsure of what to say but knowing that something must be said to comfort her. The ache would kill me if I didn't stop her tears from flowing ... it would eat me alive if I didn't see her smile again soon. P-Please .. don't .. cry ...  
  
Oh, Peter, Wendy cried out, her voice slurred and faraway. I know you're never coming back ... never ... n-never ....  
  
I whispered, the ache ripping away at my insides as the wet warmth on my cheek spread, dripping down onto my neck. No, Wendy. I'm here. I'm here, I came back ... to see you, because I ...  
  
Oh ... silly Peter, she choked. Silly dream Peter, don't lie to me ... I know that you aren't real ... let me wake up and ... and ... Peter will never come back to me, dream Peter .... the ... the real ... Peter ... who ... I ... ah-ahhh ...  
  
And with that, she let out a sound, a noise that was choking and crying and screaming all bundled into one. As her tears dripped down my neck, I felt myself dying inside. Everything had twisted so hard that it had broken, torn into a million bleeding pieces. Something deep in me had snapped, and now, it was screaming out in pain and guilt.  
  
Don't cry, Wendy, I found myself repeating, over and over again. Don't cry ... don't cry ... I'm here, Wendy, I'm here ... it's me ... Peter ... I'm ... I'm real, I'm real, I'm not a dream ... please don't cry, please don't cry Wendy ...  
  
Wendy couldn't hear me any longer. She thought I was just a meaningless dream, and so she cried on, and on, and I hadn't the strength to shake her hard and wake her from her terrible nightmare. I couldn't bear to- in horror, I watched and felt Wendy cry out the horrible dream she must have been living for so long.  
  
I hated Peter Pan then. I hated the way that I had lied to myself and tricked myself, told myself that the ache would go away, that the ache had to and should go away. I wanted hurt myself so badly now, because I had realized that my ache ... was Wendy's ache. It was Wendy's dreams and all the tears that she had shed for me ... it was her calling to me to come back to her. And I had ignored it, and pushed it away ... and now it had finally burst, and Wendy ... the still so beautiful Wendy ... was crying in my arms, thinking me a dream.  
  
I groaned as my entire body filled with the lead of sadness, and I sunk down, falling with a thud onto the Wendy's bed. I buried my face in her hair and, with no thoughts or comprehension, I too began to cry. I cried for Wendy, cried for the time I'd not used. In the same way that admitting your disbelief in fairies kills them, not accepting the ache was killing me. And for a very long time ... it had been killing Wendy.  
  
I cried on for a long while. Wendy's soft, warm hair grew wet and cold under my face, and after a time, her sobbing stopped, replaced by mine. I couldn't remember the last time that I had cried.  
  
Her arms grew limp around me, and her tears slowed as her breath again became steady and even. She had fallen asleep, and I, still wrapped in her warm body, felt its pull on me as well. My tears slowed long after hers ... and when they did, a strange stillness overtook me, a stillness in which all my thoughts seemed very clear.  
  
In the morning, when Wendy was awake, she would see that I was real. And when she did ... I would show her, somehow ... that I had been feeling her ache. I would talk to her, and maybe ... maybe ...  
  
I would make her forgive me for not hearing her all this time.  
  
I sighed, resting my heavy body. Sleep began to overtake me, and as it did, I felt a little spark of warmth in me ... knowing that I was safe, better somehow, in the arms of my sad, still-beautiful Wendy.  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Four --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: I really didn't intend that to be so sad, but it just sort of turned out that way. The next chapter will be like a continuation of this ... Wendy will wake up with Peter Pan in her arms and bed, heh. And when she's awake, she'll say different things ... I'm not sure if she should be so honest, as in sleep ... well, we'll see.   
  
I was so happy when I woke up this morning (I'd fallen asleep on the office floor), and went to check my email, and ... well, I was thinking, oh, maaaybe I got one or two reviews. But then ... woah! I had a dozen! I was amazed. A girl named Isabelle even emailed me to tell me she liked this story. ^_^  
  
This story will take a happier twist at some point ... just not yet. The pain of five years can't just magically disappear, even with love. I really hope that you all keep reading ... you're so kind ... *tears of joy*. And yes, nice reviewer, after Peter and Wendy confront each other fully, there is a plot afterward. An interesting one, I think. ^^


	5. Gift Kisses

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: It's 2:22 AM, a time of good luck! A good time for chapter-finishing, I guess. Mmm ... hurrah for the birth of Chapitre Cinq (embrasse-moi, Peter!). I proud to say that this chapter was not, like chapters one through three, conceived with Dove chocolate. Nyah ... just my good old random writing fingers ... mmm-hmm. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I've gotten so far! I love you all for this! *feels so special* And thank you, as always, for reading CTL. I'm happy you're enjoying the story thus far.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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Rays of shifting sunlight poured through the large window, flooding the bed with not moonlight, but daylight. The birds began to chirp in the overgrown tree just outside, and a few hours later the street began to once again come alive with the bustling inhabitants of London, out for morning strolls and early Saturday morning shopping.  
  
When the brightness hit Wendy's eyes, she moaned quietly, hesitantly letting them flutter open. She yawned, mumbling incoherently to herself ... how could it be morning already? She felt as if she'd gotten very little sleep ... and on her face ... why did her skin feel tight, as though tears had dried upon them? She blinked, adjusting her mind back to reality ...  
  
It was then that she first felt it, realized it. A warm, breathing weight was resting on her chest and stomach, snoring lightly.  
  
She lifted her chin, her eyes widening in horror: a half-naked man was asleep on top of her! She screamed, though it was very choked from her shock, and she sat up as quickly as possible so as to run away in terror.  
  
She didn't take her eyes off the man, but then she realized that he was more a young man than an older one, a boy about the age of seventeen or eighteen. And his clothes ... you could hardly call them clothes. He was covered in waxy leaves and wines, his chest mostly bare.   
  
The clothes looked so familiar to her, but ... no. No ... it couldn't be.  
  
She let her eyes drift to the boy's head, and she took in his curly dirty blonde hair ... his skin was tan, his arms muscular and strong, his body taut with strength and health ... his skin was so bronze, in fact, that it seemed to glow like copper in the sunlight. Could it be that this was ... was ...  
  
She had to see his face, and she knew that she would in a minute ... she had just screamed and sat up, after all. She'd awakened him ... his head was stirring, and he groaned, but then did no more.  
  
Wendy whispered, hesitantly reaching out her hand and placing it on his shoulder to give it a soft shove.  
  
The boy groaned again, and Wendy realized suddenly that his head was now resting in her lap, her bunched-up nightgown his pillow. She blushed deeply, pushing his shoulder again.  
  
This time he stirred more, and then, he raised his head in curiosity.  
  
She'd been _trying_ to awaken him, of course, but when she finally did, it startled Wendy. Her eyes widened as he stared up at her, looked deep into her eyes with slightly parted lips. Her blushed deepened, and then ... she looked back at him. She really looked back at him, into him ... those eyes.  
  
They were a mischievous shade of blue-green, though the look in them now was much calmer than she had remembered, much ... gentler, somehow. She remembered none the less, however ... these eyes ... these were the eyes of Peter Pan.   
  
Her heart stopped, and she raised her hand to her mouth in shock. Was she dreaming, even though sunlight was streaming in her room? Her lips began to quiver ... Peter was ... he'd never returned. She had lost all hope that he would, and now he was in her bed, sleepy and confused. Now he _had_ returned, now, when it was too late ...  
  
P-Peter .. ?, she whispered again, still looking down at him in shock.  
  
he said softly, lifting his head a little and yawning. Hey ... are you awake?  
  
Wendy nodded, too shocked now to speak. It was Peter ... it was him ... it was Peter Pan, he had come back, and he was ... here ... Peter ... _her_ Peter ...  
  
Are you sure you're awake?, Peter asked, propping his head up with his hand on his chin.  
  
Wendy nodded again, feeling her chest tighten and swell at the same time. The old feelings, that inescapable longing for him ... it was all flooding into her again. Her chin began to quiver as well as her lips, her eyes growing watery as she looked down into her lap. Surely, she was dreaming still?  
  
That's ... good, Peter said, looking up into Wendy's shocked face. Are you ... all right? You're pale, and ...  
  
Wendy said softly, her voice shaking. Are you really here?  
  
Yes, I am, Peter replied, his lips curling down into a frown. He sat himself up, shifting into an Indian-style sitting position on her bed. He stared at her, and she thought then, for a moment, that she saw his eyes ... soften.  
  
Wendy gasped. Why now? Why come back ... now ...  
  
Look at me, Wendy, Peter commanded, adverting his eyes slightly.  
  
I'm staring at you, was her reply. Her jaw loosened considerably as she did just as she said she was, unable to take her eyes from his glowing copper body. She felt her entire body shaking, trembling with emotion. Peter Pan had ... come back to her?  
  
Peter said, quietly. Really look at me. Find the ... change.  
  
And so, Wendy stared ... her heart pounding harder and harder each moment, she stared. And then, finally ... she saw it. His body, while still amazingly athletic and tan with the pleasure of living out of doors, was ... taller, and wider, and simply bigger in general. It was not ... the body of a boy.  
  
She gasped loudly, her eyes moving up to his face. His face had changed ... the eyes were still the same, the lips that held his melting smile were still there, but his face was ... different. It was ... older?  
  
Wendy choked, You ... you're ... you grew up!  
  
Not all the way, Peter muttered, looking down at the silky bedcovers.  
  
You look like you're older than John, even, Wendy said, her eyes widening. I ... I don't understand. I thought you had been in Neverland all ... all ... this time.  
  
I was, Peter said firmly, pressing his lips together tightly.  
  
Then how?, Wendy gasped. How could you ... grow like this if you were in Neverland?  
  
I don't know!, Peter snapped, frowning. That's why I came here ... I thought ... I thought if I saw you, I could figure out why this is happening, and then stop it. I thought you might know ... why.  
  
Know why you're growing up?, Wendy questioned, shocked. Peter nodded, adverting his eyes once again.  
  
I ... I have no idea, Peter, she said slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. How can you just ... I haven't seen you for the past five years, and then you just fly into my life one day and expect me ... to know the answer to something like this?  
  
I know it has something to do with you, Peter mumbled, lowering his face slightly toward his lap. The ache in him had swelled at this, affirming his words somehow. He looked up at her ... saw her shocked blue eyes, her lips that were full and pretty, tempting even when she frowning. Wendy ... he suddenly wished they didn't have to talk at all. It was ruining everything ...  
  
Well, I haven't the faintest ... idea, Wendy said, her voice trailing off. Peter felt his eyes widen as he stared at her ... were her lips shaking?   
  
I ... I never thought you would come back, she continued softly. I gave up hope of that so long ago ...  
  
I .., Peter began honestly, searching for the right words, I never ... thought I would, either. Wendy, I thought you'd forgotten me. Haven't you ... grown up?  
  
I don't know, Wendy answered, turning her head to the side so that her flowing auburn hair hid half of her face. But I do know that ... I have never forgotten you. I ... I missed you terribly, Peter Pan.  
  
I know, Peter whispered. He felt a terrible, heavy sadness growing in him at these words, at the sad way Wendy had turned away from him. He again felt the desire to hurt himself, to change everything that was too late now to change.  
  
I just ... , Wendy began, her voice shaking terribly.  
  
No, Peter thought. She's going to cry again ... I can't let her cry again. He winced, his mind racing for ways to cheer her. And then, suddenly ... he remembered the little bundle that he had tied so tightly and carefully to his belt.  
  
Peter whispered. Look, Wendy. I brought you a gift.  
  
A gift?, Wendy questioned, turning back toward him halfway, surprised.  
  
Peter answered proudly, reaching to his side and untying the green little bundle. He held it out in the air for a moment, and then let it fall with a small plop into Wendy's lap.  
  
Wendy looked down at the little package wrapped in large, waxy green leaves, her elegant eyebrows raised in curiosity.  
  
Go ahead, Peter urged. Open it!  
  
After looking up shyly at him for a moment, Wendy bent her head to the little bundle in her lap and began randomly tugging on the vine-like strings holding it together. A few minutes and many little tugs and untanglings later, the strings slipped and the leaves fell away silently.  
  
She laughed quietly as a very large handful of thimble-shaped acorns poured into her lap, rolling around her thighs and settling finally in the very center and bottom of her bowl-shaped, nightgown-covered lap.  
  
She giggled a little, looking up at Peter with her first genuine smile.  
  
They're all kisses, Peter said softly, For ... for you.  
  
And at this, Wendy's smile slowly faded. She lifted her hand suddenly, pressing it in various places on her chest until finally, she found the little lump she'd been searching for. Reaching behind her neck, she tugged on the silver chain and pulled a pierced acorn out of her nightgown.  
  
My kiss, Peter said, smiling. He beamed at Wendy, feeling for a moment that his heart was soaring over a sparking sea. She'd kept his kiss all this time! She hadn't thrown it away in anger and pain as he'd feared ...  
  
See, Peter, Wendy whispered. I kept it all this time. I kept on ... waiting ... for you.  
  
Her eyes met his, and Peter felt his breath stop at the look in them- the sparking blue was now dark and deep, cold and swirling like the unreachable depths of some mysterious sea. Her eyes were the homes of mermaids- of pain, and sorrow.  
  
He winced as his heart seized, realizing that if she had thrown away the kiss long ago ... he would have undeniably deserved it. And she ... she would not have.  
  
Peter whispered, surprised for a second time at the soft, pleading voice that was not his own. I ... I just ... I thought that ...  
  
Wendy whispered, her voice strained and nearly inaudible, a voice not intended for his ears. She lifted her head, her eyes moist and searching.   
  
Ahh ... yes?, Peter answered, his eyes widening.  
  
Might I give you a ... a hug?, she asked, biting the inside of her bottom lip. I just ... want so badly to ... touch you. I want to see if you're really ... here ... with me ...  
  
What's a ... hug?, Peter asked, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion.  
  
Wendy let out a quiet choking sound as a single warm tear slid down her cheek. Oh, Peter. The cleverness of you ...  
  
Peter's blue-green eyes widened even more in shock as Wendy suddenly collapsed forward, wrapping her warm arms around him in a tight, desperate embrace. He let out a muffled gasp as his body was pulled up against hers, his face suddenly buried in her soft, warm hair.  
  
Peter sighed contentedly, oblivious for a moment to her tears as Wendy held him tight to her, her arms surprisingly strong. Sword-fighting, storytelling arms ... arms that gave very warm ... hugs ... that made his heart stop beating ...  
  
Wendy closed her eyes tight, letting the warm tears spill down her cheeks. It was really Peter, here in her embrace. It was truly him ... simple, naive Peter ... who had somehow grown with her despite his magic ...  
  
Peter felt them then on his neck and cheek ... the same warm wetness as the night previous ... and the panic again overwhelmed him. How ... how could she cry while doing something that felt so ... good? No, no ... he could never let Wendy cry ... he would make it so that somehow, she would never need to again ...  
  
Peter whispered softly, pulling back only a little, just so that he could see her gentle face. He had been right; warm tears were sliding down her cheeks.   
  
he repeated softly, Please don't cry ...  
  
He reached up his hand and rubbed away the bead of a tear with his thumb, and then smiled a little, warmly, as he stared into her moist blue eyes. He watched as her jaw loosened and her lips parted ... her full, soft pink lips ...  
  
Don't be sad, Wendy, he whispered. She was still his fairy-girl, still his Wendy when they were close like this. You don't have to ever cry because of me again, because I ... I'll ... I will ...  
  
Wendy whispered suddenly, her eyelids drooping.  
  
Peter whispered. Well ... always cheer you ...  
  
Wendy asked, and Peter felt his cheeks begin to burn as he realized just how close he was to her face. He could feel her warm, steady breath on his cheek, and her words were so clear, despite being so quiet.  
  
I don't know, Peter breathed. But then, in that moment ... he did know. He knew how he could cheer Wendy, how he could comfort his forever and always fairy-girl ... he could just ... give to her ... what she had given to him. He could give her ... the other kind of kiss.  
  
Some other part of him protested this ... this meant feeling, and feeling had been forbidden forever ... but Wendy ... Wendy had somehow become the exception to that rule. He didn't care, anyway. He wasn't thinking. He just wanted to take away her tears.  
  
Slowly, he closed his eyes and tilted his head, leaning down toward her as his hand went from her tearstained cheek to her soft, warm hair. He tangled his fingers in it, leaning down further as Wendy's eyes, too, began to close, her chin lifting just slightly ...  
  
And then, the door suddenly flung open, the doorknob hitting the wall with a loud bang. Mr. Darling stood in the doorway, his dark eyes wide with horror.  
  
he yelped. Who is that strange boy in your ... your ... your _bed_?!  
  
she gasped as Peter jumped away from her, startled. This was ... her father? What miserable timing ... but ... wait ... had he been about to _kiss_ Wendy? He suddenly couldn't remember exactly why, couldn't think of the worded explanation ... he was going to kiss her? But who had said that he ... loved her? He couldn't love. He had never loved.  
  
Who _is_ he?!, Mr. Darling screamed. Young man, get _out_ of my daughter's _bed_ this _instant_ before I come in there and ... !  
  
Father, you don't understand, Wendy pleaded. This is ... this is ... Peter Pan!  
  
Peter ... Pan?, Mr. Darling asked, dumbfounded. In ... my daughter's ... _bed_? I ... I was beginning to think that it had all been some story you ... or a dream that I ... you! I don't care if you are Peter ... Pan ... get _out _of my daughter's bed _now_, or else I'll ...  
  
Wendy whined, blushing deeply.  
  
Peter raised an eyebrow, startled from his thoughts. He looked from Mr. Darling to Wendy, Wendy to Mr. Darling, not intimidated in the least.  
  
he said haughtily, leaning back onto the silky blue bedcovers.  
  
Mr. Darling gasped incredulously. _Why_? Well, because you're ... you're ...  
  
A boy, Wendy offered, her blush deepening as she looked shyly over toward her window.  
  
Mr. Darling shouted. Exactly! A boy! So out! Now! _Out_!  
  
Peter simply raised an eyebrow in curiosity, not moving an inch until lazily, seemingly by his own independent choice, rose from his Indian-style sitting position near Wendy and hovered easily _above_ the bed.  
  
Mr. Darling's jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock.  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Five --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: It hurt me more to write it than it hurt you to read it, trust me on this, loves. I wanted them to kiss, oooh, I did, I did. But ... they just can't kiss this early. I'm sure you can figure out why by rereading Peter's brief thoughts about love after being interrupted from following his heart.  
  
I have so many reviews! Like, forty! ^_^ I was pretty sure I was going to get about as many reviews as there are Lost Boys, but ... nope! I am a lucky woman. I just posted Chapter Four ... heh, it's so weird to finish this chapter and then think to myself, Opp! 2:19 AM ... better post the chapter I wrote this afternoon!. I'm ahead of myself, I guess?  
  
I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter. In the next chapter or so the new plot will be introduced (the old plot of having dealt with the past and the pain of it all). The present for Wendy ... heh. Things will keep changing for our loving couple, won't they? They always do.


	6. Secret Pain

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Six chapters down, no freakin' idea how many more to go. But oooh, I hope it's many ... because I'm definitely enjoying this new writing rush. I'm on a very pleasurable roll, truly. I'm happy that I started this story. I'm really happy that a lot of people like it, too. Yay! ^_^  
  
Oh yes, and I have finally bought the book. *grins* It's lovely, I ... was trapped by the first sentence. It's very, very interestingly written, so much so that I couldn't write just after I read it. His tone was all stuck in my head, I couldn't use my own style! I really am loving it, I ... ugh, McDonalds slogan. Damn you, all-powerful fast food chain ... yes. I am ... adoring it. The writing style is beautiful, the themes within it are mature and so rarely written of. I feel so proud to be writing something based on something so much better.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** Nyah, this isn't a real section, and ... I don't usually reply to reviews, because as a rule there are just too many (if that sounds conceited, I'm really sorry, but it's true! There are a lot now! ;_; -- joy tears). But, well, I thought I could answer just ONE question.  
  
_Shauna's Review_: ... Haha Peter grew up! That's cute, I bet he looks hott now.  
  
_My Answer_: Oh yes, Shauna honey. The Peter I invision while writing is indeed one hot, amazingly delicious man child. Think the new movie Peter, only seventeen ... mmm. Can you feel the lust? I like to focus on the shining copper-toned skin and athletic, thin, perfect body. Mmm. Don't get me wrong, I love my boyfriend more than I love anything or anyone, but damn ... yum!  
  
You can ask me questions too, if you want! Well, that wasn't really a question, but ... I laughed anyway. So yes, ask away, and if I'm not too tired, I'll reply!   
  
And now the story!  
  
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Mr. Darling called in a stern, disgruntled voice from the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
Oh, yes, dear?, Mrs. Darling said cheerfully, tilting back slightly to smile at him with the sizzling pan still in her hand. What is it?  
  
We're to have a ... guest of Wendy's at breakfast this morning, he replied. At this, Wendy poked her head into the kitchen as well, looking at her mother with pleading eyes.  
  
Mrs. Darling questioned. You invited a guest for breakfast? Why didn't you tell us? And why ... breakfast? Dinner is really more of a proper time for guests-  
  
Oh, I didn't know until this morning that we'd be having him, Wendy replied quickly. Her voice held excitement, but deep down, she still felt hollow. Surely, after breakfast, he would fly away home.  
  
Wait ... him?, Mrs. Darling questioned, the uncooked eggs in the pan still hovering in midair. Do you mean you invited over-  
  
No, no, Wendy assured. Actually ... he's Peter Pan.  
  
Mrs. Darling's eyes widened in shock as the pan fell to the floor with a loud crash.  
  
Oh, mother!, Wendy cried, rushing into the kitchen and kneeling to the floor to clean up the mess. I ... I'm as shocked as you are, but I ... I'm sorry ...  
  
Don't, Wendy dear, Mrs. Darling said, shooing her daughter away and wiping up the runny, hot eggs herself. It's just ...  
  
She raised her head slowly, her usually calm and poised eyes now filled with doubt and disbelief. ... that ... Peter Pan? Are you ... certain?  
  
The boy can _fly_, Mr. Darling said quietly, still standing in the doorway. I can scarcely believe it myself, but it's true. It's him.  
  
It's him, Wendy repeated to her mother softly, standing. Can he please ... please ... stay for breakfast, Mother?  
  
Of ... of course he can, Mrs. Darling said shakily, sweeping over to the sink and slipping the pan into the water. Just ... just tell him to join us at the table. The boys are already waiting, I believe ...  
  
Oh, thank you so very much!, Wendy exclaimed, and with that, she turned and ran past her unsettled father through the kitchen door and back up to her bedroom.  
  
As she climbed the stairs, though ... a heavy weight fell into her chest. Perhaps ... perhaps he had left already, scared off by her angered father and the bright sunlight?  
  
She reached her door, and slowly, taking in a deep, slow breath to calm herself, she opened it. Her heart had begun to pound again, unceasingly, her hands to sweat ... how could someone that had only been a blurry memory up until this morning do so much to her?  
  
The door slid open, and there was Peter, standing barefoot on her carpet, still there- real and solid. Wendy let her breath release in a slow sigh as she stepped inside, her eyes locked on him.  
  
He was staring into her dresser mirror, and strewn on the dresser's polished wood surface was the pile of thimble-shaped acorns. It unsettled Wendy, to see him staring so deeply into himself, lost so much in his own reflection. She watched as he slowly raised a hand to his face, trailing his fingers along his cheek and jaw.  
  
She shut the door with a click, and at that, he jumped and turned quickly to her.  
  
he breathed. I was just ... we don't have these in Neverland. He gestured carelessly to the mirror. I was just checking to see if I had ... really ... grown.  
  
said Wendy softly, unsure of what to see. He had truly grown- it was easier to see that now, with him standing instead of sitting or floating. He had become so tall- taller even than John, and he was a few inches above her head- and his body was a bit thicker, filled out with muscle, though still thin for a man. And his skin... that taut, shining copper-toned skin.  
  
Ahh ... and, Peter said, finding himself unable to stand Wendy's stare without every inch of his body tensing, I wanted to put ... these ... in your box. I thought that you might ... want them there instead of in your bed.  
  
Wendy noticed then that her jewelry box sat opened on the dresser. She stepped forward, smiling a little.  
  
I'm surprised that you would know that, she said, walking to the dresser and picking up a kiss, rubbing its smooth green surface with her thumb. Help me put them inside?  
  
Oh ... Peter said, picking up a kiss himself and dropping it into Wendy's open jewelry chest. Wendy did so as well, and one by one, silently, Peter's kisses were put away for safekeeping.  
  
I'll keep them always, too, Wendy whispered softly to herself. Peter dropped the last kiss into the box, looking up at her.  
  
I'm glad you want to, he said, frowning a bit, for though Wendy's words were not sad, her face betrayed her. Her eyes were downcast, too dark. They were wide and sparkling when she was herself, and now, they seemed dead.  
  
said Wendy, and she opened her mouth to speak, but just then, they were once again interrupted.  
  
a lovely, womanly voice called, And P-Peter Pan! Breakfast is on the table!  
  
That would be Mother, Wendy found herself saying, her original thoughts slipping away. We should go down.  
  
All right, said Peter, although this idea unsettled him quite a bit. He didn't want to go ... he wanted to stay in this room with Wendy, stay until he saw her smile again.  
  
Let's go, said Wendy, and hesitantly, he followed her gracefully lead out the bedroom door.  
  
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Nibs shouted happily, jumping up to stand atop his chair in joy when Peter half-walked, half-hovered into the room. The ceiling restricted his flight, and as such he chose to merely glide' toward the table a few inches above the floor.  
  
You're still here!, Slightly chorused with his brother, pressing his hands on the table to hoist himself up. I thought you'd be _gone_ in the morning!  
  
I was starting to think it was all another dream, said Michael, grinning.  
  
A chorus of Peter, _Peter! _You're _here_! filled the small dining room, happy boyish faces all smiling with pleasure. Mr. and Mrs. Darling, however, frowned at the chaos that was suddenly erupting in their hectic, yes, but usually controlled household.  
  
Nibs, please, Mrs. Darling scolded, Sit down. Really now, boys ... yes, this is Peter Pan, and he will be ...  
  
Yes, sit down, Peter!, Cubby sang out, interrupting his adoptive mother. Look, Mother pulled up an extra chair for you!  
  
The chorus of the room changed from Peter, Peter! to Sit down Peter, sit down! as Michael patted the chair next to him invitingly.  
  
Calm down, boys, Mr. Darling tried to call over all the noise, I know that you're all ... excited, but ...  
  
Did you sleep in Wendy's room?, Slightly asked abruptly. Mr. Darling's jaw snapped tight at this, and he turned to Peter with a sharp turn of his head.  
  
Peter, meanwhile, had been floating silently, amused at all the loud attention directed toward him. Wendy stood slightly behind him, smiling just a little at her brother's joy, for she did love them greatly, and their pleasure was one of the few things that could now bring her smile back to her pretty lips.  
  
She frowned at the nearly murderous way her father was looking at Peter, however.  
  
she said softly, when Peter did not answer, choosing, in fact, to completely ignore Mr. Darling's harsh look. I suppose he must have?  
  
Peter turned back toward her at this, his smile fading. He remembered the night before, when Wendy had thought him an apparition instead of a reality. He remembered her horrible tears and the way she had said openly that she had lost of all hope of his return. He remembered his own tears ...  
  
Peter said. I suppose I did. He turned back to the happy, boy-filled table, unable to bear staring at Wendy.   
  
At this, Wendy's heart winced. Why did he always need to turn from her?  
  
Peter finally advanced, lowering himself to the ground and walking to the chair that Michael had been patting. It was crammed in-between his chair and another empty one. He felt his ears burn when Wendy walked over to and seated herself in this chair, effectively squeezing herself very near to him.  
  
Well then, Mrs. Darling said, sending reassuring glances to her husband. Boys, Wendy, dear. Go ahead and eat!  
  
In a sudden rush of clattering plates and reaching hands, the boys all grabbed for the many large platters and bowls crowded onto the dining room table. Mrs. Darling sighed, not even attempting to correct their behavior.  
  
Don't hog the eggs, Nibs!, Cubby snapped, yanking the large spoon out of his hand rudely.  
  
Nibs yelped, elbowing him in the side. Mrs. Darling shook her head sadly.  
  
Peter stared at all of this, taken aback. He'd been eating alone, in relative peace, for years.  
  
Noticing his puzzlement, Wendy leaned to her side, tilting her lips toward Peter's ear.  
  
It's best to wait until they've finished fighting over who gets their serving first, she whispering knowing, smirking. And don't worry, Mother always makes more than enough.  
  
Peter started at the sound of Wendy's flowing voice so near to him, and he turned to her, surprised, feeling his heart stop for just a half-second when he found himself very, very near to her lips.  
  
You're going to eat all the bacon, Michael!, John snapped, snatching the platter away from his brother. Really, does it look like there's enough for twelve servings of _five_?  
  
You just want more for yourself!, Michael retorted, lurching forward to snatch back the greasy china platter.  
  
I want some, Peter said suddenly, reaching out his hand and taking a small handful of the dripping strips. It smells good. What's it called again?  
  
John and Michael froze, both of their hands still clutching the platter.  
  
'Course, Peter, Michael chimed, grinning and shoving the bacon platter toward him.  
  
Nibs and Cubby froze as well, the large egg spoon still in his hand.  
  
Want some eggs, too, Peter?, Nibs yelped, holding out the bowl toward him from three seats away. Cubby stretched out his hand, offering Peter the spoon.  
  
Orange juice, Peter?, Slightly grinned, although the pitcher was nowhere near him.  
  
Aren't you going to offer your father any food, boys?, Mr. Darling warned, tapping his fork against the edge of his empty plate.  
  
They're real good, Peter!, Nibs insisted, shoving the bowl forward a few more inches. Scrambled and everything!  
  
Try this, Wendy said quietly. It's healthy for you, you know.  
  
And elegantly, she took the orange juice pitcher in her hand and poured some into Peter's glass, while all the while he stared at her, spellbound by her very soft voice. She seemed so calm ... too calm. Why wasn't she going crazy over his presence, like the boys?  
  
Try some, Peter! Pleeease?, Nibs whined.  
  
Peter snapped out of his thoughts and leaned forward, peering into the scrambled egg-filled bowl curiously.  
  
Are you sure those are eggs?, he asked. They look so ... lumpy.  
  
Nibs said proudly, while Cubby threw the large wooden spoon over Michael's head. Peter caught it easily. They're real good, like I said. Mother is _real_ good at cooking.  
  
We don't even have to kill stuff to eat, Peter, Cubby said proudly. Mother just buys it at the store!  
  
A chorus of nodding and loud agreements filled the table at this.  
  
But isn't it more fun to hunt?, Peter asked absently, glancing at the spoon. Deciding it useless, he reached forward and took a fistful of egg, letting it drop onto his plate with a quiet plop!'.  
  
Mr. Darling's face grew steadily red as Mrs. Darling gasped, shaking her head even more.  
  
There isn't any stuff to hunt round here in London, Nibs explained. The people scared all the animals away, and plus, there's no room for em anyway. The only thing that's left are pigeons, and we'd have to kill twenty of em everyday to feed all of us!  
  
Mr. Darling said tensely. Why would anyone want to kill a pigeon and then ... _eat_ it?  
  
'Cause hunting is fun, Nibs replied easily, chewing happily on a strip of bacon.  
  
Mr. Darling sent Mrs. Darling a stern look that seemed very much to say, This Peter Pan boy is negating all of our efforts to convert these boys to _normalcy_! Why are we letting him eat at our breakfast table?! And he _slept_ with our _daughter_! ...  
  
Nibs, be a dear and pass me the eggs?, Wendy said suddenly, and quite politely as well. Nibs grinned and did so, and she reached over Peter's plate to pick up the rejected spoon, using it to carefully spoon eggs onto her empty plate.  
  
This quiet gesture of Wendy's seemed to calm Mr. Darling slightly- at least one of his children was acting as they should. Mrs. Darling smiled, turning toward her daughter.  
  
We have a big day ahead of us, Wendy dear, she said, beaming. Shall we leave straight after the breakfast dishes are done?  
  
It's your turn to do them today, Cub, Slightly said accusingly, shoving a spoonful of egg into his mouth.  
  
It is not, Cubby snapped, chewing on a bacon strip. It's you and Michael's day!  
  
No, it's you and John!, Slightly shot back, disgusted.  
  
It's both of your days, Mr. Darling snapped, his plate still empty. Now let your sister talk!  
  
Wendy frowned as silence fell around her.  
  
Couldn't we ... another day?, she asked meekly. I... I mean. We have ... a guest. She turned to Peter, looking at him with such terribly deep blue eyes that he froze in the middle of swallowing.  
  
No, dear, Mrs. Darling said, frowning slightly. We've had this appointment for a month now! And besides, I'm sure Peter has quite the catching up to do with the boys, don't you, Peter?  
  
Peter swallowed his mouthful of mushy yellow uncomfortably as all eyes turned to him, seven of them excited and eager. He felt a strange voice inside himself insist that he say no, I want to Wendy to stay with us all day. I have ... so much more catching up to do with ... her. But the eyes on him were so insistent, Mr. and Mrs. Darling's so threatening, and Wendy's so filled with the depths that so frightened him that he could only utter one response.  
  
Ahh ... yes, he said. Yes ... with the boys.  
  
Oh, wonderful, Mrs. Darling praised. Wendy, isn't that nice? We're free to go after all! Aren't you excited?  
  
Terribly excited, Mother, Wendy sighed, taking a tiny sip of her orange juice. I simply ... cannot ... wait.  
  
Mrs. Darling beamed. I think everyone is done eating?  
  
The eight boys around the table, Peter not included, nodded their heads hesitantly, swallowing and chewing slowly.  
  
Good, then Wendy and I can make our appointment in time, can't we? George, for goodness' sake, eat something! Now boys, you remember our mealtime rule?  
  
Mother cooks the meals, children clean afterwards, the boys mumbled disgruntledly as Mr. Darling unhappily slapped the last remaining piece of bacon onto his place.  
  
Mrs. Darling said. And who has dishes to wash this morning?  
  
Charles and Frasier, Mr. Darling said absently.  
  
My name is _Cubby_, Cubby mumbled. Slightly merely hmphed' murderously.  
  
Good, good, Mrs. Darling said absently. And Peter, dear?  
  
Ahh ... yes?, Peter said, surprised to be called upon. He had been strangely quiet the entire breakfast, drowned out by the boys, uncomfortable with the business of family eating and dampened by Wendy's overly controlled behavior.   
  
You know... you look about John's size, Mrs. Darling said appraisingly. Wouldn't you say, George?  
  
Put some decent clothes on, Mr. Darling said grumpily, not even looking in Peter's direction. He had, after all, had a terribly stressful morning for a father and gentleman.  
  
said Peter, gritting his teeth. He wanted badly to pull out his dagger and wave it in Mr. Darling's face, but he knew that would be the end of breakfasts at the dining room table, and that would be the end of seeing Wendy. It would easy for him to simply fly home, of course, and return by window to the nursery and her bedroom, but somehow ... he didn't want that. And it would be much easier just to wait around, anyway. He had to stay ... until he found out how he could reverse what Wendy's ache had done to him.  
  
Mr. Darling snapped, and went back to his eating.  
  
Let's go then, Wendy, Mrs. Darling said, frowning at her husband. You go fix yourself up, and I'll get your coat ...  
  
Wendy said suddenly. Wait. I ... I know the perfect thing that Peter can wear. Please, let me ... fetch it for him.  
  
said Mrs. Darling, disappointed. Well. Do hurry, then ...  
  
Wendy stood abruptly, turning to Peter and looking down at him.  
  
Come with me, she said, softly, simply. She turned on her heel then, heading rather quickly out the dining room door and toward the stairs.  
  
Peter followed her out the door and up the stairs, mesmerized by the way her nightgown flowed around her ankles like gentle white waves, or clouds, or liquid pearls. Why was she walking so fast, though? And at breakfast, she had been so ... un-Wendy-like. Where was her questioning, her eager smile, her wild and daring actions? She was much too quiet for being his Wendy ...  
  
Finally, they reached her bedroom. She opened it quickly, slipping inside like a very fast ghost. Peter followed, automatically shutting the door after him.  
  
I ... I have a gift for you, Wendy said quickly, slightly out of breath. She smiled briefly, and then hurried over to her bed and bent down, slapping her hand randomly on the floor under it as though looking for something.  
  
Peter frowned, confused. He had known that he was going to leave Neverland to visit the Darling household once again, but Wendy ... she had said that she had given up hope of his return. He'd had the time to find a gift for her, because he knew that he was coming, but she hadn't known ... so why did she have a gift for him?  
  
Wendy made a tiny noise of joy, something like . Peter watched without words as she pulled a dusty box out from under her bed, a box that looked as though it were made of something like hard paper.  
  
It's a bit old, she said apologetically, blowing the dust off of it in a little brown cloud. I ... I had to take sewing classes when I was younger, and I ... I told them it was for John. But really, it was for you. I ... I wanted to give it to you when you ... came back.  
  
Peter looked up from the box to her face, which was both sad and strained with apprehension. She really had been missing him, hoping for him to return to her ...  
  
she said softly, Please ... take it. It's yours.  
  
She handed the old box to him, and Peter took it with a shaky smile, feeling both guilty and pleased.  
  
He opened it, and within the box, lying there perfectly as though it had been created the night before, was a carefully folded pile of fabric. He grabbed it at the edges and let the box fall to the carpet, watching the folded bundle fall open as he held it out.  
  
Peter's eyes widened at how shiny the fabric was, how it gently caught the morning sunlight in its folds. It feels like water, he said simply, admiring it.  
  
It's made from silk, Wendy explained quietly. I ... I saved up my allowance for a whole two months to buy it.  
  
Peter repeated, still admiring it. He recognized it by shape as a shirt, one with a collar and buttons at the ends of the long sleeves that looked like flat little acorns. The entire shirt was a deep green color, just like the leaves that made up his real clothes.  
  
You can put it on now, if you want, Wendy whispered. I mean ... just to see how it fits.  
  
All right, said Peter, and he did, clumsily slipping his arms into either sleeve and squirming until they felt somewhat comfortable. The shirt's bottom reached properly beyond his waist, but when he tried to pull the shirt together toward the center of his chest, he found he was unable to. He looked up at Wendy, unsure of what to say. The shirt was simply much too small.  
  
I ... I made it before I knew you ... had grown, she said quietly. I'm sorry, I ...  
  
Peter cringed at this mention of his strange new body, but said nothing, unable to bring more pain to Wendy's already disappointed face.  
  
It doesn't have to fit, he said suddenly, dropping his hands to his sides. I can wear it just like this. He grinned, letting the shirt fall open, exposing his bare chest.  
  
Wendy blushed, nodding shyly.  
  
I suppose you could do that, she said, her voice still quiet. But ... I don't think Father will like it very much.  
  
I'll never take it off, Peter assured, scoffing at this mention of Wendy's father.  
  
Wendy said, finding this difficult to believe, but still feeling her heart swell pleasantly all the same. Thank you ... you can ... get some pants from John, if you want.  
  
said Peter, somewhat disgruntled, but he knew he would do it if it would ... make Wendy happy.  
  
But instead of smiling further at his resignation, her smile dropped completely into a dejected frown.  
  
she whispered, her eyes full and dark again, full of everything that Peter feared ... had been fearing within himself.  
  
he stuttered, Yes ... Wendy? He felt his heart tighten again at the look of her, at the way she stared into and through him. She was so beautiful on the outside, still so ... but on the inside ... when she wasn't content, the things he saw in her somehow started up inside him as well.  
  
Will you be ... staying?, she asked, nearly whispering in her trembling voice, and Peter knew then what was bothering her, why she had been so unlike herself all through breakfast. She was waiting for him to leave her again.  
  
he said honestly. I have to stay, until I figure why I'm ... growing up. I have to figure out how I can stop it, and why, and until I do that, I'm ... I'm not going anywhere.  
  
Wendy's eyes seemed to explode with brightness then, the way a sky breaks open with sunlight after a horrible storm. She smiled brilliantly, beautifully, and Peter grinned at this. He felt that flying feeling inside of himself, felt his heart flying all around inside his chest.  
  
I'm glad, she whispered. She was so relieved, so pleased, and yet a dark voice inside herself still whispered ... but what happens when he _does_ figure out what had happened to him? If he found a way to change back into youth, and he left, then ... but she couldn't think about that now. Not when he was here ... now.  
  
I ..., she started, wanting to express how _very_ glad she was at his staying, but was interrupted rudely by her mother's calling voice.  
  
her mother called from the bottom of the stairs. We're going to be horribly laaate, deeear! Come aaalong now!  
  
Yes, Mother, Wendy whispered to herself, and then looked back up at Peter.  
  
His heart fell. Her smile had completely disappeared again, replaced by that same frown, and in her eyes, that same rainstorm. Where had her smile, her inside beauty gone so quickly? And ... why? Was there even ... more troubling her spirit?  
  
she began softly. There is something you should know ... I ... my mother and I are going to ...  
  
But her mother called again, this time her usually lovely voice nearly shrieking with the fear of tardiness.  
  
she called, Come aaalong now! We must gooo!  
  
Wendy sighed, turning away sadly with her bottom lip between her teeth.  
  
I suppose you'll find out soon enough, she whispered, and looked up to give him one last dark, sad look with her stormy, tormented blue eyes.  
  
Peter started to protest, but Wendy simply shook her head and pointed toward the door.  
  
You will, she said quietly. I need to change out of my nightgown now. Please. Go. I'm sure the boys are waiting.  
  
Feeling strangely rejected, Peter half-nodded and walked, not flew to the door, opened it and disappeared into the hall. He leaned against her door, listening as the wardrobe creaked open and clothing was pulled out, listened to the shuffling of clothing being pulled off and on again, smoothed and tugged and buttoned. And then, for a moment, there was silence. And then, footsteps.  
  
Immediately, Peter stepped to the side, watching as Wendy stepped out silently into the hall. Internally, he gasped ... her dress was so ... like what a lady would wear. It was a soft blue color, like her bedsheets, and it hugged her body tightly, decorated with trim little buttons and lace around the collar.  
  
He gulped, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. He recognized the little pearl necklace he'd found when rummaging through her little jewelry chest the night before ... it was now wrapped around her pale neck. And there, nearly hidden in the dress, was part of a silver chain.  
  
Wendy asked, startled. I thought you had gone to see the boys.  
  
Peter started, but was suddenly unable to find the words. And then, he remembered. What was it you ... were going to tell me?  
  
Wendy's eyes widened at this, and she frowned, deeply.  
  
I told you, she whispered. That you'll find out soon enough, I ... I need to go. Mother is waiting for me, and we're ... going to be late.  
  
Peter whispered, but she sighed and turned from him, rushing toward the stairs.  
  
Peter walked to the banister, watching as she half-walked, half-ran down the stairs in a sky blue blur, her half-put-up wavy auburn hair waving in her wake. She should never have to run again, he thought absently. She should always fly. Like a fairy-girl should ...  
  
He heard himself sigh. It seemed no matter what pleasant things happened between himself and Wendy, something was always there, poisoning it. He hated that something, wished he could stab it dead with his dagger. He knew it had to be the thing that Wendy was avoiding telling him. He knew that was what was catalyzing the terrible storm in her usually bright, calm blue eyes.   
  
What could be so bad that it was hurting someone with such a beautiful spirit, he thought, remembering Wendy. Remembering her wide smile as she sword-fought, remembering the way she had looked at him when he was kind to her. What could have ruined that?  
  
He clenched the banister with his hands, angry.  
  
What was killing his Wendy?   
  
  
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-- End Chapter Six --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Ahh, yes, and enter the New Plot. I told you, reader whose name I cannot recall, that I had a plot after Peter and Wendy met again! Ah-hah! I do! God, I wish I had your name.  
  
I'm sorry if you hate cliffhangers. I do, too, but ... they're so useful! If I'd let her say it, then I would have had to practically write a whole other chapter within this chapter ... and this one is really long enough. Thirteen pages. Fhew.  
  
I still love everyone! Checking my email is now officially the highlight of my day, because I get reviews. Ooooh, *huggles everyone*, you're all so nice! I hope that you keep enjoying CTL. It's written for you, really. Well, and me, because I too need the ending of Peter Pan to just be a little bit more satisfying, but well ... mostly, just for you! ^_^  
  
Oh, and if you're thinking that Wendy is just depressed because Peter had been gone for so long, well ... no. It's something ... else.  
  
**Beta readers: I need them! **Alas, I have them not. I don't really need any now, because I've honestly been updating too fast to send a chapter to someone for pre-reading and then waiting for an answer. But ... ! I've only been able to update so nice and quick because I can write for four hours straight after getting home from work at midnight. But, what with school starting up again on Monday, that'll be the end of super fast weekday updates. I'm sorry. ;_; But I just can't keep up this pace forever. Sooo, starting next week, I could use some beta people! Uhm, if you're interested, please email me at anthy17@hotmail.com! And I will reply and stuff. I think I would like about ... three? It's good to have several opinions. I don't know if that many people would even be interested, though.  
  
Oh, and JJ, you have the first beta job! *grin* You're so nice.  
  
I love everyone! Please come back for lucky Chapter Seven!


	7. Suffocating Dress

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Mmm, and lucky Chapter Seven is complete. Oh ho, yay ... it's all good, I guess. Damn, am I hungry though, and a little, tiny bit sleepy (it's 4:03 AM now) ... mmm. I'm going to see the movie for the second time tomorrow. 3 Mmm, the joy of love and fantasy.  
  
I actually work at a movie theatre *gasp! I don't write for a living! sad, really ...* Peter Pan is showing at the other theatre, not the one in which I am currently employed (there are two theatres in Wausau, both owned by the same company, so I can get into both free!). And anyway, the important part!  
  
There was this huge Peter Pan cardboard advertisement thing we had outside our theatre, right? It was like, eight feet tall. And I'd been planning to ask our manager if I could pleeease, pleeease have it, but before I did, he and two people dragged it inside and started stepping all over it! I was behind vending, working happily, and then I looked up and I was like ... nooooo! So I went over to them just as they were carrying away the bundles of folded-crushed cardboard and asked if I could pleeease, pleeease have it anyway. And they let me. Heh, obviously, it was trash-destined.  
  
And I salvaged the thing, and I cut it apart and saved three pieces: one a small cardboard of Wendy lying on the ground, with Peter over her, but looking up, one with Peter and Wendy in the dark castle, looking down on something together, and then, the best of all! Oh, this is so good, really, so good. A poster-size piece of the hot little boy who plays Peter! Looking so yummy ... oh my god.  
  
I am one lucky bish.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** And now, someone's question is about answered!  
  
_Someone's Review_: This _is_ a Peter/Wendy fic, isn't it?**  
  
_My Answer_: Mmm'hmm! I'm all in their favour (unless of course Peter Pan came to _my_ window, in which case ... Wendy _who_? *whistles*).  
  
** too lazy to quote what the person whose name I'm too lazy to find actually wrote.   
  
No one asks any questions. ;_; I guess it's all pretty easy to figure out then! Hurrah!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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Oh, Wendy dear, Mrs. Darling exclaimed happily, raising her hand to her open mouth. It's simply exquisite! Oh, how lovely! It's perfect!  
  
I ... I don't know, Mother, Wendy answered quietly, her eyes fixed on her reflection. It seems ... so ...  
  
Oh now, don't be silly dear, Mrs. Darling coaxed. This one is absolutely _everything_ we've been looking for. Just look at yourself!  
  
Wendy did look at herself, swallowing hard. She could understand why her mother loved the dress so much. Every inch of it was covered with fine lace and twisting embroidery, and the back was held together by real little pearls. She tried her best to hold back her quivering breaths, tried to calm them into tiny ones ... she could barely breathe thanks to the corset sewn in tightly under all the elegance.  
  
She stared at herself in the three-way mirror, dejected. Throughout all her girlhood years she had dreamed of this one dress, and the one she had been squeezed into now was, quite frankly, nothing like it at all. Not in the least.  
  
Wendy protested softly. It's all so ... distracting. I really wanted a ... a simpler gown.  
  
Oh, no, no, Mrs. Darling argued absently as she smoothed down the many ruffles of the skirt, all puffed with lace and under-netting. This is the current trend, oh, I'm sure of it. You look exactly how I had imagined, Wendy, all these years. You look perfect. Finally, you've become a woman.  
  
Wendy froze as her mother placed a hand on her shoulder lovingly, staring too into her reflection. She could barely recognize the girl in the mirror under all the white, ruffled fuss- the only thing she saw were her eyes staring back at her, wide and empty.  
  
I've always really wanted, she whispered, A dress like ... like a fairy might wear. Simple, and light ... like the wind ... smooth and pale, like the moon ... natural beauty ...  
  
Mrs. Darling only heard part of her daughter's soft mumbling, as she was very busy smoothing the dress over and over again.  
  
Oh, you and that silly fascination with fairies, she tutted. That's no way to choose a dress like this. You only wear this one in your lifetime, you know!  
  
Wendy knew. Oh, she knew very well what this painfully tight dress meant. She had thought she'd had it all planned perfectly, all reasoned out just so before ... before Peter had returned to her. And now, the sadness had returned to her as well ... and with it, deep, sickening doubt.  
  
It's lovely, Mother, Wendy said mechanically. Mrs. Darling beamed.  
  
Oh, wonderful, she said proudly. I'll just go tell the lady that we'd like it boxed. We'll take it home with us!  
  
And happily, she disappeared through the dressing room doors.  
  
Wendy breathed out slowly, watching in the mirror as her lips began to quiver slightly, as though she were freezing inside. She stared, helpless, until she at last blinked, freeing one warm tear. It slid down her face silently.  
  
When she was a girl, her dream wedding had been very simple, and really quite short. Her family had been there, yes, but as they didn't matter very much on that perfect day, they blended in with the background, blurred and quiet. Only her six new brothers really stood out, looking absurd in black bowties and slicked-back hair.  
  
But her groom didn't look absurd in the least. Oh, no, he looked the same as he always did in her memories, his hair adorably disheveled, his eyes bright and mischievous, but also, as part of the fantasy, filled with eager happiness. He would be wearing a silk green shirt, and she ... she would be in a long, silky white gown that reached to her bare ankles, a dress that floated around her like a cloud, simple and free.   
  
And her groom would drift forward, and put his hands on her small waist, and smiling, he would lean forward and, with no words, make her his forever. A kiss was all that was needed. One simple, achingly beautiful kiss, not from her lips to his, but from his to hers. Mutual love and tenderness. Always.  
  
Wendy reached back and began to undo the pearl buttons, breathing out with relief as they snapped apart, sighing with relief as each new tear fell. It was silly to hold onto such girlish fantasies, really. She wasn't twelve years old anymore. She was eighteen, grown-up and promised.  
  
And besides, it was not the wedding that was the important thing, not the dress or the ceremony. Rather, it was the things that came along after the wedding, the important effects of a man and a woman agreeing to build a life together. It was these things that mattered most, not the shallow details.  
  
She would not admit to herself, however, that in her practical examination of marriage, the identity of the groom did not matter much, either.  
  
She winced, releasing the last button as the wet tears on her face began to fade dry. She must let go of her girlhood dreams ... and accept what really mattered to her now ...  
  
  
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Death is on your doorstep, Blacktoothed Bill!, Tootles screamed, jumping from the parlor chair with a shriek to chase the evil pirate Slightly around the room in a breathtaking swordfight.  
  
Join me, brave Peter!, Tootles yelled invitingly, stabbing Slightly in the gut with a dignified . But Peter had grown tired already of play, and was lying sprawled on the thick scarlet carpet with his pathetic excuse for a weapon (Mr. Darling had screamed about his dagger for a good ten minutes, and finally, annoyed, he had relented) near him. He sighed, glancing once again out the window.  
  
When will Wendy be coming back?, he mumbled, irritated and also, deep down inside, unexplainably worried. And where did she _have_ to go, anyway? He muttered a few choice insults about mothers.  
  
Don't know, said the wounded Slightly with a shrug. Probably off doing lady things with Mother.  
  
Yes, ladies like to go off together, Nibs added importantly, in the middle of pulling several parlor chairs together to make the deck of a pirate ship. Even to the bathroom.  
  
Curly laughed at this, his oversized purple hat, complete with a huge salmon feather, slipping down over his eyes.  
  
Peter only , unamused. He was offended that Wendy had been so placid about going with her mother. She should have shown her what's what!  
  
Stop brooding, Peter, Michael scolded lightly, throwing his sword into the air and catching it easily. Come on ... play with us.  
  
Play with yourselves, he snapped, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Why do you brood over Wendy, anyway?, Nibs asked dully, leaning over Peter's head and blocking out the parlor light with his shadow. It's not like you to brood, Peter.  
  
I just would like to know where she's been all this time, Peter mumbled, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. She didn't even say.  
  
Its not like she isn't coming back, Slightly remarked, his wound miraculously healed. Probably off to a lady lunch.  
  
Yes, probably, Nibs said, bored now without Peter's loud, eager commands.  
  
was Peter's only comment this time, and he frowned miserably at the ceiling above him.  
  
Wendy has been out often lately, John said suddenly, lifting his eyes from his book for a moment. Back down to the text they went.  
  
Play with us, Peter, Curly begged. Won't you?  
  
Please, Peter?, Nibs joined in, pouting desperately.   
  
Peter sighed and sat up, but just as he was reaching for his stick-like sword, the large front door opened with a swoosh and a click, and in swept Mrs. Darling, tall and proud, and behind her, a quiet Wendy, her eyes to the floor.  
  
A large white box was in her arms.  
  
Wendy's home!, Slightly yelped, and she turned to him with a gentle, distant smile.  
  
Hello Slightly, she said quietly, stepping into the parlor.  
  
Ooo, Wendy, Nibs said, staring intently up at her. Peter has been brooding on you!  
  
Wendy laughed a little at this, and she turned toward Peter, who was sitting on the floor with his legs flung apart carelessly. He grinned, feeling strangely uneasy under her gaze as a tinge of red flooded his ears.  
  
Brooding, Peter?, she asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.  
  
Oh, you know, he replied shakily, wanting desperately to cough, On ... many subjects.  
  
I see, Wendy replied, amused. I never knew you the type to brood.  
  
This little exchange seemed to content her immensely, and pleased, she smiled and turned with her burden toward the staircase.  
  
Nibs yelled just then, stopping her. What's that you're carrying?  
  
It's ... nothing, Nibs, she said carefully, frowning. But clever Nibs would have none of it.  
  
Is it a gift?, he asked slyly. Wendy's frown deepened.  
  
she replied softly.  
  
Not even for Peter?, he questioned. At this, Wendy's eyes darted immediately to him, and Peter, frozen by her intense gaze and wide blue eyes, thought for a second that perhaps it was. But she shook her head, turning away.  
  
How about Father?, Nibs persisted, knowing that many things kept secret in boxes were gifts.  
  
It isn't a present for anyone, Wendy said quietly. Nibs frowned, disappointed.  
  
What is it, then?, he asked again. Wendy sighed and shook her head, looking suddenly very, very tired.  
  
she whispered. I told you. Nothing. And with that, she turned once again to the staircase, resisting the urge to run up it two stairs at a time.  
  
Oh, please, Slightly whined, Let us see!  
  
Wendy seemed not to hear him, continuing to walk toward the staircase.  
  
Nibs joined in, and he ran toward her, reaching for and grabbing a fistful of her soft blue dress. He tugged strongly, and Wendy, surprised, froze and was pulled backward. She gasped as the large white box jostled in her arms and then slipped a loud thud to the floor.  
  
The lid bounced, landing so that the box was half open, and immediately, all eight boys- the six lost, Michael, and Peter, that is- rushed for it to peer inside. Peter was notably last, dragging behind the crowd because of the look on Wendy's face. It had grown still and pale, stern. He thought for one terrifying moment that she had died in surprise.  
  
Nibs reached the box first, of course, and he reached inside, pulling out a very thick ball of white that quickly fell down and apart toward the floor. Wendy let out a soft choking sound as her brothers stared, shocked.  
  
There it was, her lace-filled, ruffled white dress with the horribly tiny waist and little pearl buttons, wrinkled and spilled out in Nibs' outstretched arms. None of the boys knew what to say, and so, they said nothing. They recognized what breed of dress this was, and though they had known for months what Peter had not, seeing the dress itself still startled them.  
  
When the shock wore away, they turned their heads nearly in unison toward Peter, staring at him, waiting for his reaction. They knew, though for the younger ones it was only a vague feeling of knowing, why Peter had been brooding on Wendy. They had not been blind five years ago, even if they had been younger.  
  
Peter, however, didn't seem shocked at all. He simply looked at the dress with a slight frown, as though only mildly displeased.  
  
It was definitely something her mother had picked out for her, Peter thought with some disgust. He didn't like the dress at all. It was much too complicated to be beautiful, and it looked to him that it would take hours just to put on. He couldn't imagine his free, simple Wendy in such a constricting bundle of scratchy white.  
  
He looked at her, doubtful. Wendy's face was very, very pale now, her lips pursed tightly and her eyes frozen wide, moist. She looked so upset, he decided, that he would lie about the dress to be nice to her. To cheer her up.  
  
I like it, he said simply, looking at Wendy hopefully. He even pretended to smile to validate his words. Its ... nice. And ... pretty.  
  
Wendy's eyes shot open in shock, and she opened her mouth, releasing a choking sound that blurred with a cry of appall. She stared at him, openmouthed, blinking as wet tears welled up in her eyes.  
  
Shocked, Peter only stared back, unsure of what had just happened between them.  
  
How can you, she whispered, her voice trembling, Just ... I ...  
  
She was unable to finish, the tears overpowering her speech with barely restrained sobs, and with one horrible look, she cried out and ran for the stairs, leaving the dress abandoned, still in Nibs' hands.  
  
What ... , Peter tried to ask, but he was too confused to finish. He'd only complimented her ugly new clothes to make her feel better about them!  
  
Michael said suddenly, clearing his throat. The silence that had fallen upon the boys had not lifted, and their faces were now sullen, knowing the seriousness of what had just been exchanged. Even John, who had risen from his reading to see what all the commotion had been about and was standing near to the parlor doors, said nothing.  
  
Are you, Micheal asked slowly, Familiar with the customs of a ... a marriage, Peter?  
  
What is a marriage?, Peter asked, now confused even further. What did this matter now? He cared much more about why Wendy had just run from him in a sorrowful fury.  
  
You should go ask Wendy what marriage is, John said quickly, turning all the boys' heads toward him. She seems to know the best of all of us.  
  
All right, Peter said quietly, frowning. A marriage must be a terrible thing, to be so hurting his Wendy. I will.  
  
And resolutely, he turned toward the staircase, looking up it until he saw, obscured slightly, the closed door of Wendy's bedroom. He would kill this marriage that was hurting her so horribly, he decided, if it was the last thing he would do. Nothing that was so low as to hurt such a beautiful spirit deserved to live, especially when he was near to her. It was his duty to protect her from these kinds of dangers.  
  
He began to climb the stairs, his eyes still locked on Wendy's closed door. Interestingly, he never thought these thoughts, he simply knew them, simply understood his duty to help and comfort Wendy. He just followed it then, up the stairs and into her world, with a blind sense of certainty. He could have closed his eyes and still found his way to her easily, up those winding stairs; so was the power of following one's heart.  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Seven --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: *very sad wedding march begins to play in head* ... and enter the plot. I suppose some of you must have guessed that Wendy was but, well, I hope I surprised at least some of you. On with the wedding?  
  
Soo hungry. ;_; Will someone please email me food stuffs? *sniff* Oh well, it's for a good cause to stay up late without food, isn't it? For yooou, lovely wonderful darling readers! *huuugs* Oh, how you all make my days with your reviews ... I'm really so lucky. Please keep on enjoying CTL. ^^   
  
**Beta readers: I still need them! **Two new people have emailed me thus far. =D You have until, hmm ... well, around next week to contact me if you want to be a beta reader, so if you want to, please do! I would be greatly appreciative of your help. And I'll thank you a lot ... oh yes, I will! If you are interested, please drop me an email at anthy17@hotmail.com. Danke danke!  
  
Please come back and read Chapter Eight. ^_^ I will work hard on it!  
  



	8. To Marry, To Escape

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Well, it's 6:21 AM in the morning and I feel sick, but at _least _I have a chapter to post tomorrow! I'm going to proofread it tomorrow, too ... yawn. Well, I ... I don't know quite what to say ... I'm just very tired, so, yawn and ... goodnight! Oh, but first ... thank you so much for all of the beautiful reviews! *hugs* You're all so wonderful. ^_^  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** No questions. *sniff*  
  
And now the story!  
  
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Peter stood frozen outside her bedroom door, a strange fear rushing into him. He was not used to fear by any means, but this fear was one quite different from the fear he briefly felt when a sword swiped off a lock of his hair or an arrow narrowly missed his leg as he soured through the air. This, rather, was a fear begun from the inside and not the out, and there was no weapon.   
  
There was only the twisted feeling in his stomach knowing that Wendy was in her bedroom, shedding tears because of his ignorance of marriages ... and the fear that he would only make it worse by asking what they were.  
  
He didn't want to ask, really. He wished that he could ask one of the lost boys, or Michael, or even the distant John to explain what a marriage was, but he knew, somehow, that as this marriage had so deeply hurt Wendy and not them, she would know best. Always, when it came to things that hurt from the inside, Wendy could be traced back as the answer ... or the source.  
  
And so, with all these muddled thoughts racing through him, Peter swallowed his inside fear and reached for the doorknob, turning it with a little click.  
  
Wendy froze, her hands still covering her tearstained face, as she heard his footsteps enter her bedroom, heard the second click of the door shutting tight.  
  
Peter began, but already his tongue was tying. Everything inside him had stopped at the sight of Wendy on her bed like that, sitting with her head in her hands, her half-hidden face red and shiny, her hair disheveled around it. Her tears took even her beauty with them, flushed red her smooth, pale skin, skin normally the shade of a full summer moon.  
  
His heart ceased to beat, his body ceased to move, his tongue forgot how to speak, and his mind erased itself with emotion- all for that one, miserable view of Wendy, crying because of him.  
  
he tried again, when she did not raise her head nor move a single inch. Please ... don't cry.  
  
Wendy said nothing for a moment, and then, grievously, she sighed and raised her head from her hands, staring at the wall instead of Peter with wide, empty eyes.  
  
she asked quietly, always so quietly, did you follow me?  
  
Peter began shakily, knowing the simple answer he had, but wanting suddenly to have a different one to give, a kinder, less simple one. To comfort you, Wendy. To heal you, so that I could see your beauty whole again ...   
  
To ... to ask a question, Peter said at last, frowning.   
  
A question?, repeated Wendy, turning halfway toward him, her hair still obscuring half of her face.   
  
Peter stuttered, Yes, I ... I want to ask you ... what a marriage is.  
  
At this, Wendy turned all the way toward him, her blue eyes wider than before, deep and tragic. Something within Peter's chest winced painfully at these eyes- they were more than sad, they were ... able to see through everything, see through him. No matter how gentle he tried to be, his words always seemed to bring about her empty, sorrowful stare.  
  
A marriage, she repeated numbly, blinking. A fresh tear slid down her cheek, unnoticed by her, her expression frozen. You ... you don't know?  
  
Peter shook his head, cursing, for the first time, his ignorance of many of the things not found in Neverland. He knew nothing of this danger that so plagued Wendy, and therefore he had no idea how to murder it. Knowing this invoked a bitter sense of shame within him, one he had never experienced before.  
  
  
Wendy said bitterly. Of course. Of course ... you wouldn't know, would you, Peter?  
  
She said his name in such a near-mocking way that Peter was momentarily stunned, shocked, for always in the past, the speaking of his name had been tender at her lips. Gentle, forgiving, tender ... to hear that slaughtered sent a knife through his heart, resonated with a stinging echo in his mind.  
  
What do you mean by that?, he asked somewhat aggressively, though he didn't mean to sound so harsh; it simply slipped out that way, for though his body had grown, his sense of pride had still remained much the same.  
  
I only mean, Wendy answered, the mocking gone now, replaced by a tone that was a mix of bitterness and sadness, that a marriage is something only a ... mature heart can understand.  
  
Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at this, and at the same time, his heart dropped. The way Wendy was talking to him, he was beginning to think that she thought he hadn't a heart. And perhaps, and this pushed his heart down further into regret ... this made perfect sense.  
  
I'll never understand it, he replied, trying very hard to keep his voice steady, if I don't know what it is.  
  
That's true, Wendy said simply, and she paused, turning her eyes away from him for a second as though preparing herself, steadying herself internally. When she turned back, her eyes had changed again- they were like two oceans now, the water that filled them sadness.   
  
Peter frowned, fighting the urge within himself to _do_ something other than just stand there, staring into her. He wasn't sure what the _do_ was, though ... his heart grew all muddled when he asked it this ... and so, he did nothing, only stared back. Her eyes never changed.  
  
she began slowly, is when a ... man, and a woman ... grow to love each other so much that they ... realize ... for certain that they wish to spend forever with one another, and so they-  
  
Peter gasped, understanding this concept in the same way that he knew the meaning of never'. Forever was always, unending, and to spend forever with just one person ... was very frightening.  
  
Wendy answered simply. Forever. And so, they decide to marry and build a life together ... and they express their ... knowing that they'll be together always and desire to share their lives ... in a ceremony called a ... a wedding ... in which they promise to always care for one another and be loyal to each other ... and this is all called ... a ... a marriage.  
  
When she had finished, she quickly turned her head away, trying her best to hide the fresh tears that were threatening to fall. Explaining her view of marriage had proved to hurt far, far more than looking at herself in her wedding gown. Especially since she was explaining it to ... him.  
  
Do many people have a marriage?, Peter asked suddenly, trying to bring Wendy back to him as well as have his questions answers. Her definition had filled his mind with a river of thoughts- he had never heard of marriages before, and the complexion of it all overwhelmed him.  
  
Oh, yes, Wendy whispered. So many. Especially young women. Young women nearly always marry. It's considered shameful to ... to not be able to find a ... a ...  
  
Peter merely stared at her as she whispered, not understanding. How could _many_ people be able to marry? It seemed impossible to him ... to find someone that you wanted to spend forever with. Surely, only a few people ever found the right person to do this with.  
  
How do people find the person they have a marriage with?, Peter asked quietly. Wendy's lips had begun to quiver, and her body was very still, nearly rigid.  
  
she whispered, so softly that Peter could barely hear her, Some people say that the person you marry is decided by fate ... in which case ... they call the person you marry your soulmate, because your souls are tied together. And some people say that God ... helps you to find them.  
  
But what do _you_ think, Wendy?, Peter asked, knowing that she knew so much, and that surely, her opinion meant more than that of some people.  
  
I think, she whispered. That ... that if you find your one person, you are ... more than lucky, and that you should just ... love that person, and not ask questions about how they came into your life.  
  
Peter frowned, nearly gasping as Wendy again turned from him, burying her face into her hands. So looked tired, so horribly tired, and he knew that she probably wanted him to leave, but he couldn't. He couldn't go anywhere until he understood.  
  
he ventured carefully, his voice as gentle as he could muster, Tell me ... what does a marriage have to do with that ... that dress?  
  
Wendy froze, not breathing for a moment. And then, her voice muffled by her wet hands, she said it simply.  
  
That dress, she said numbly, is for my wedding.  
  
Peter felt his eyes widen, felt his entire body freeze, rigid with shock and then, flowing through him like water far colder than ice, the pain that numbed every thought and feeling within him. No.  
  
No. That was the only thing Peter could feel.  
  
You're to be married, he half said, half gasped, not questioning so much as repeating in shaky disbelief. He heard only silence for a moment, and then, her voice so very, very quiet ...  
  
she whispered, and his world crashed around him, shattered in shades of red and black, exploded with frigidly cold fire that ripped through everything, froze and killed everything inside him.  
  
To who, he asked, though again it was not said as a question. And again, Wendy paused, trying to still her panic, to calm her pounding, aching heart.  
  
she whispered. You'll meet him ... soon ... I'm sure ... if you ... you stay ...  
  
I don't want to meet him!, Peter shouted, and Wendy turned up her head in shock. And how do you know, anyway? How do you _know_ that he's the one you're supposed to be with _forever_? Forever is so long, Wendy ... so _long_ ...  
  
Wendy stared at him, shocked at his outburst, but her eyes did not change. Betraying only a hint of the dark rainstorm within her breast, they swirled blue-black with her inner turmoil.  
  
Oh, Peter, she whispered. You must have known ... that someday, I would grow up.  
  
Peter froze again, seething with anger that was dampened by the horrible ache growing within him, sending waves of pain throughout every inch of his body. He had known, yes, though he had tried to forget for so long, that she would soon no longer be a child, as he was. But this ... this was not about growing older. This was about ... marriage.  
  
It doesn't matter, Peter snapped. I don't care if you're older, I just care that you're ... you're wrong, you know! Why do you have to have a marriage of your own? Why can't you just ... just ...  
  
Wendy sighed, breathing it up and out from deep down inside her. Her face was still red and glossy from the tears, blank and empty from her habit of concealing everything.  
  
There are other reasons for getting married, Peter, she said simply.  
  
Like what?, Peter replied somewhat shakily, for already he hated this concept of marrying, wished it was something that could be killed with one or two stabs. But it wasn't ... no. Marriage was something far more threatening than anything that had ever attacked him, and this one had dove in deep, slashing far below the belt.  
  
Wendy whispered, You can only have children if you marry, and I ... I would like children very much. I want to raise them to be ... happy, and joyous, and ... knowing that there is so much more in the world than what will be offered them. And ... marriage is the only way to ... escape ...  
  
Escape what?, Peter asked, wanting now to kill that which Wendy was running from as well. Oh, if he got the chance, it would be in so many bloody slices that nothing would be able to piece it back together.  
  
Have you ever been lonely, Peter, she whispered in reply, so lonely that you could only ... ...  
  
But her voice trailed off, muffled and trembling.  
  
Peter's frowned deeply, and deep within himself, he knew he understood. He understood her words completely. He wanted to tell her now, but ... he had to convince her against marrying. It was the only thing he could do, he ... could not find the strength to do anything more.  
  
You don't have to marry to have children, Peter explained hesitantly. You are the lost boys' mother. You take care of them, don't you? And I'll ... I'll be your son if you want.  
  
Wendy said nothing to this, simply stared at him, her eyes lost and dull, glossy with new tears. They were devoid of all hope.  
  
In truth, Peter didn't want to be Wendy's son. The idea of it sent a shiver of deep protest through his mind; he could never, and would never, he knew, be her son. It was simply something he couldn't fathom ... but ... he would do anything to convince her not to marry. Anything.  
  
You just don't understand, Peter, she said, staring through him and missing his single intention, What it is to have your _own_ child. One that you bring into the world yourself, and care for until they too are grown ... it is ... it is something that can never, never ... be make believe.  
  
Peter could say nothing to this, knowing somehow, in some hidden, silent way, that she was right. He had been a Father to the boys before, and never had it meant much; it had only been another role to play that empathized his authority over his troop, a role like Captain or Leader. That and it was a role that placed Wendy always at his side, but ... in general, it was mostly a role that selfishly served him.  
  
Wendy had told him years ago that a mother's love was just the opposite, patient and restless, unending, everything but selfish. Wendy had never been wrong about matters of the heart; never. Now was no time to disbelieve her.  
  
He had to end her plans for having a marriage. He simply had to, or else ... he would have no future. If he lost Wendy, he would never discover why his body had grown, and as such it would continue to grow, and he would quickly become a man, alone in a world that hated his spirit just as it tied down the spirit of Wendy.  
  
Without Wendy, there was nothing, no light at the end of the road of his life to lead him on. He sensed this, knew that if he lost Wendy, he lost that within himself that had ached so long for her, cried out with waves of pain for her voice and touch.  
  
And, he thought, swallowing the tightness in his throat ... what would become of her kiss? She had promised it to him long ago, assured him that it was, and always would be, his. In fear of the ache, he had pushed this great memory away, but now it resurfaced, blurry and worn thin, like an old love letter read too many times. Would she press her lips to his once again only to take the kiss back, to reclaim the kiss that had been promised to him, so that she could give it to a man named ... Caleb?  
  
Oh, how he longed to slash open his stomach and spill out his insides. If he could just erase him from the picture for good ... yes, that would the easiest thing. He itched to reach for his dagger just thinking about it. However ... he knew that this would not do. It had to be Wendy's choice to let him go, or else, his fight would be worth nothing ...  
  
And there was one final and great reason why he had to end the future marriage, why it was so dire that he did. The marriage was killing his sweet, loving Wendy. It had drained the life from her pretty body, sucked from her beauty that she had expressed in every story, every gesture, every smile. It had taken the life from her, weakened her into the quiet, submissive, miserable woman he now saw before him. He felt he would die if he did not see the youth return to her eyes in a bright glow, see her smile softly for him, content and perfect.  
  
All this swirled in Peter's head, some of it harder to read than others, but each thought clear in its intent: end the marriage and protect Wendy. End the marriage and ... save himself from the darkness that he felt creeping into his heart when he thought of life without her.  
  
Wendy whispered, startled. He had been staring out into space for so long, lost in his thoughts.  
  
he said, breaking free. And then, they came to him ... the right words. He would solve everything by doing the simplest, most honest thing he could think of ... he would tell Wendy the truth at last. He would tell her ... how he had been feeling, and why, truly, his heart had pulled him from his Neverland home and again to her window, again to her glowing presence.  
  
A glowing presence that had been darkened and faded by this marriage, by the pain that thrived within her. She had become so miserable, so cold, so ... lonely.  
  
She had said that she was lonely. Lonely ... just like ...  
  
Wendy asked, her voice uneasy. Peter had never looked quite so ... serious before. He was so lost in thought, something that she had never ... deemed him capable of. Never before had he looked so sure of his words.  
  
he began, breathlessly. I know you think that I've been careless all this time, happy in Neverland ... and I was there, but ... I ... was not happy in the least. I was lonely, too. Always, my heart felt like ... like this ...  
  
And at this, he reached out and grabbed Wendy's shaking hand in both of his, cradling it for a moment with his head downward. And then, digging his dirty fingernails into her soft skin, he suddenly tightened his hold, squeezing her hand tightly until she visibly winced.  
  
Peter released her hand, looking up into the mournful blue eyes that were now locked, waiting in surprise, on him.  
  
he continued, I couldn't sleep at night. I dreamt always of what Hook said to me, when we were fighting ...  
  
Wendy asked, confused now. What did Hook say to you?  
  
He ... he warned me of this, Peter said, his eyes darkening. He told me that I would be ... replaced ... by a man called a ... a ...  
  
But at that moment, the door made its click as it was swung rudely open, the knob banging as it hit the bedroom wall. Peter froze, backing away several steps from the seated Wendy as his head turned toward the door and the unwelcome intruder.  
  
Wendy, dearest, a cheery voice said smoothly, Your mother told me that I might find you upstairs. Look, I've brought you these ... they're fresh from the flower market, I thought they might compliment your lovely room.  
  
Peter frowned in disgust at the tall young man that blocked the bedroom doorway, dressed primly in a gray suit and blue tie, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. Wendy frowned as well, lifting her hand to franticly wipe clean her moist eyes.  
  
Who are you?, Peter asked when Wendy said nothing, placing a hand automatically on his waist. He tried to best to hold down his irritation at this bastard's poor timing, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible.  
  
My name is Caleb Walter Williams, the man said easily, offering a disgruntled sort of smile. He had completely missed Peter, his eyes locked instead on Wendy's slumped body. And you are?  
  
Peter ... Pan, he nearly growled, lowering his hand irresistibly toward his belt and dagger, ready to slash Caleb Walter Williams, the man Wendy was to marry, open at the slightest hint of aggression.  
  
Caleb said, raising an eyebrow. What a queer name. Are you a friend of her brothers? Wendy, dearest, are you quite all right? You look rather pale.  
  
I'm fine, Wendy said quietly, standing, Caleb. Thank you ... for the flowers. I'll ... I'll put them in water ...  
  
She walked forward and took the flowers from him numbly, slinging the bundle into her arms as she walked toward the door.   
  
Peter frowned deeply, never moving his eyes from Caleb. He could feel his hand shaking from the temptation, but he knew it would be an unfair fight. His opponent was unarmed, and from what Peter could tell, he had also never so much as touched a sword in his life ... perhaps not even as a child. And Peter Pan never fought unfairly.  
  
Caleb simply stared back at Peter, disgusted with Peter as much as Peter was with him. He frowned severely at his bare chest and feet, at the old pair of black pants John had lent to him, at his unruly hair and generally untamed, free appearance.  
  
Peter stared back, eager for blood.  
  
Caleb, who had stood in contest with Peter as Wendy disappeared through his door, now turned up his nose at him and followed with an air of dignity, closing the bedroom door as he went with its soft click'.  
  
If you lay so much as one finger on Wendy, Peter whispered out loud, promising himself, I'll gut you full through and feed you to the London pigeons.  
  
His let his fingers slid lightly over the bulge of his dagger, and then, feeling more full of feeling and anger than ever before in his long, long life, he turned to follow Wendy and her ... mistake down the stairs.  
  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Eight --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: I wanted Peter to attack him so badly. Ohh, I did. But then there would be no story afterwards, would there? Well ... maybe ... but not the one I have in mind. I think this is an important chapter, because it sort of shows how Peter has grown ... he doesn't know, verbally or factually, the definitions for things like marriage, but he can sense the seriousness of marriage and of finding (or choosing) a lifelong mate. Heh, I tried.  
  
**Beta readers: I'm still looking for people! **There is still time ... heh heh, if anyone cares to beta, you can write me about your amazing beta skills by emailing me at anthy17@hotmail.com. Thanks so much!  
  
I hope that you're still enjoying CTL, and that you'll come back again for the next chapter. ^^;;  



	9. One Simple Lie

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Of _course _doing this is far more valuable than doing my Biology homework! Of _course_ it is! I'm, ahh ... quite tired, and so, so sick of Biology. I'd love to just ... oooh ... burn my textbook. Alas. Poor student me. Mmm ... my life is not so bad right now, though. It could be much, much, much worse. I'm quite lucky, really ... ahh well, this chapter. I think it's rather sad ... a lot of lying. I hope you enjoy it.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** No questions. *sniff*  
  
And now the story!  
  
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I see you've met Peter, Caleb, Mrs. Darling rang out cheerfully as Wendy, Caleb and, trailing far behind, sulking and angry, Peter descended the stairs into the front room. Oh Wendy dear, what lovely flowers! Are those from _you_?  
  
Yes, Mrs. Darling, Caleb said proudly, flashing Wendy's mother a brilliant smile. Peter cringed, feeling his fingers begin to quiver uncontrollably.  
  
I've come to put them in a vase, Wendy said numbly, and as she turned away from her mother toward the kitchen, she looked at Peter briefly, raising her eyebrow as though curious and frowning. But just as quickly, she turned away and disappeared through the large kitchen doors.  
  
Silence fell into the Darling front room as Peter glared at Caleb's back, his opponent sending only very short, irritated glances in his direction.  
  
Mrs. Darling said, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. I'll let you boys get acquainted ... you being the same age and all, you could become great friends!  
  
Oh yes, Peter said icily. I'm just _dying_ to know more about you. What did you say your name was again?  
  
Caleb Walter Williams, Caleb nearly hissed as Mrs. Darling walked briskly out of the room with a slightly perturbed smile.  
  
Peter said, smirking.  
  
And you are Peter Pan, said Caleb, highly aggravated now. Such a ... simple name. Do your parents find the alliteration of such a name endearing?  
  
The ... what?, Peter asked, frowning and growing more and more irritated with each passing word.  
  
Caleb merely raised a thick eyebrow, smirking himself in a much more twisted way.  
  
Peter has no parents, a gentle voice said from the side. Caleb and Peter both started, turning to where Wendy, a soft blur of sky blue and auburn, stood without expression. You should really be more sensitive, Caleb.  
  
Caleb stiffened at this, frowning. He said nothing.  
  
Wendy turned her eyes then from her fiancée to Peter, who was staring at her openly, his eyes distant. Why did he loathe Caleb so? It was truly that they were very, very different ... in more ways than the obvious, she knew ... but Caleb had really done nothing to Peter. Peter had simply hated him from the start.  
  
But ... why? Wendy could only frown. She had a theory, a simple one at that, but ... she couldn't bear to accept it. It wasn't possible.  
  
She walked forward quietly, finally turning away from Peter's calm gaze, and set the heavy crystal vase filled with water and sweet white lilies in full bloom on the side table that was next to the staircase.  
  
My love, said Caleb suddenly, and Wendy looked up, slowly taking her hands from the vase.  
  
I was hoping, he began, That we might venture out this afternoon. We could take a nice, long walk, and afterwards, I'll take you out to dinner. How does that sound?  
  
Wendy shot a brief glance toward Peter, but knew that saying no was not an option.  
  
Of course, Caleb, she said easily ... much too easily, as though rehearsed. I would love that.  
  
Caleb said, in the same rolling tongue as her mother. I'll get your coat.  
  
He walked over to the coat rack near the door and did so, walking up to Wendy with a smile. He held her coat out and open for her, bending his head forward slightly to whisper in her ear. Peter felt his body tense, knowing he was whispering sweet nothings.  
  
We will discuss this outside, he said in one tight breath, and then his face once again broke into a smile, and he pulled away.   
  
Shall we, love?, he said loudly, and Wendy pulled her coat around herself protectively, staring at the floor.  
  
she called weakly, She didn't turned toward him, however, and, as Caleb gently took her by the elbow, she allowed herself to be lead placidly out the front door, never looking back so much as once.  
  
Peter stood frozen on the staircase, wincing as his heart was sliced open by some horrible, aching sword.  
  
  
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Caleb and Wendy walked out of the front door slowly, the picture-perfect image of the perfect couple. They turned together, stepping off the Darling front porch, and then, suddenly, his hold on her elbow tightened.  
  
Roughly, he shoved Wendy toward an alcove between the house and its front stairs.  
  
Who is he?!, Caleb growled, pulling Wendy closer to him by roughly yanking forward her arm.   
  
Wendy whispered, her eyes wide.  
  
Who do you _think_?, Caleb hissed. That ... that ... overgrown child! I saw him holding your hand, you know. I was watching through the space between your bedroom door and its frame!  
  
Wendy trembled, No, no, you don't ... understand ... he was just trying to explain what he-  
  
Don't lie to me!, Caleb whispered harshly. Wendy winced as his grip on her arm tightened painfully. You'll end it. Now.  
  
Wendy gasped, is nothing to end, Peter is ... is ...  
  
Caleb asked,   
  
He's ... he's like a brother to me, Wendy whispered sadly, swallowing hard as she tried to hold back her tears.   
  
I would tell you to get him the hell out of your house, Wendy dear, Caleb said slowly, But ... there really isn't a need, is there? Because in a few weeks, you'll be all mine, and you'll be living in _my_ house. You'll be sleeping every night in _my_ bed, with _me _... and you can just forget to visit. Isn't that right?  
  
Wendy breathed. Caleb scowled.  
  
Yes _what_?!, he growled, and Wendy looked away from him, wincing a second time as her arm was once again squeezed painfully.  
  
she whispered, incredibly close to tears. Yes, I ... I will be living with you, and I ... I will ... forget to visit.  
  
That's right, Caleb said, grimly satisfied. I can't wait. Can you, Wendy dearest?  
  
she breathed, and he reached up his hand, taking hold of her jaw and pulling it up, kissing her. Wendy stared up blankly at the sky as a single tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
No ... ...'  
  
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Peter lay once again on the plush parlor carpet, his arms behind his head and his legs apart, thinking. His eyes were locked on the ceiling despite the loud and eager noises that circled around him; the lost boys and Michael had found him, and as he was a symbol of carefreeness and adventure to them, they had immediately invited him to play.  
  
And he had, for awhile. But now ... his body seemed drained of its own energy, heavy and weak somehow. The hairs on the back of his neck had remained bristled throughout his entire confrontation with Caleb, and they were still bristled just as before; he had a bad feeling about him. He was like Hook, a pirate who was elegant and sly ... he was much too similar to Hook.  
  
Peter frowned, unable to rid himself of the nagging feeling of premonition within his breast. He couldn't help it; unexplainably, he was worried over Wendy.  
  
Oy, Peter, said Curly, frowning. You brood too much. You're like John an' his books.  
  
It's true, Nibs said knowingly. You do brood quite a lot. What are you thinking on?  
  
Peter said quietly, still staring.  
  
Nibs and Curly looked worriedly at the others, who in turn all looked at Peter, still and silent. They could not grow used to seeing their formal leader, always so joyful and lighthearted, so sullen now.  
  
That's the worst thing to brood about, Slightly noted. Nothing. It means your mind is empty, but you just can't stop looking.  
  
The others nodded knowingly, looking suddenly quite sullen themselves.  
  
Please Peter, Nibs encouraged, Get up and play with-  
  
And just then, Peter sat up like lightning bolt. The front door had just clicked open, and in a gentle swirl of pale blue, Wendy silently entered.  
  
He heard a muffled male voice say, Goodnight, dearest, from outside, and with that, the door was politely closed. Wendy looked up, and immediately, their eyes met.  
  
She smiled in a very fragile way.  
  
Hello again, Peter, she said softly, and then turning her head toward the others fondly, Boys. Are you having fun?  
  
Oh, loads of fun, dear sister, said Slightly loudly, happy for the attention. I've been murderin' some rogue pirates, but that's all really.  
  
Don't be daft, one of the twins snapped at him. I killed you ten minutes ago!  
  
Slightly yelped. The wound was not fatal!  
  
And so they set to arguing, and Wendy smile distantly. Her brothers could never fail to make her smile. She lingered on them, but then, slowly ... she let her gaze turn toward Peter. Her little smile faded.  
  
Come with me, Peter, she said softly. I ... I should like to talk with you.  
  
S-Sure, Wendy, Peter said shakily, nodding. Wendy looked at him for a moment, her face pale and expressionless, and then, with a slight twirl of her dress, she turned and headed up the stairs. Peter lapped at her heels, watching her hair fly softly back like a gentle spring breeze. Lovely ...  
  
They were at the bedroom door. Wendy turned to him, smiled slightly ... but Peter found he could not smile back. Deep inside, he knew her tense smile wasn't real at all, and therefore, he could not return it with a true one, nor did he want to pretend. He had grown so tired of pretending.  
  
And so, without a word, Wendy opened the door and stepped inside. Peter followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.  
  
I've been thinking about what you said, she began softly, looking not at him but wistfully over her bed and out the window, her eyes wide and distant.  
  
You ... you have?, Peter questioned cautiously.  
  
Wendy replied, and I have decided that ... I would love ... to be your mother.  
  
At this, Peter froze. He frowned, surprised but utterly dissatisfied; he did not want this. He did not need a mother. Especially a mother that was Wendy ... of course, she had been a wonderful one, but never ... never had she truly been his. He had always been Father. Never, never could he be her son.  
  
he said softly. I don't want that.  
  
A sister, then, said Wendy, turning to look at him. Peter blinked; the sun shone in through the window behind her, silhouetting her into a shining shadow. He did not reopen his eyes.  
  
Not a sister, he whispered, looking into darkness. Had his eyes been open, he might have seen it: the dark clouds in her blue eyes breaking open for just one brief moment as Wendy felt a tiny beat of hope.  
  
But it was a fading beat, and not one she could dare to cling to.  
  
A friend, then, she said resolutely. That's the ... the only thing left, really ... unless you don't wish to be my friend. I ... I would understand, if you ...  
  
Don't be like that, Peter said, opening his eyes now. They were distant like hers for a moment- the hours of her presence had changed him, morphed part of his own spirit into her dejected one. I would never turn down your friendship.  
  
Wendy wanted badly to smile at this, but there was so much more swirling inside herself, clouding her thoughts and blackening her perception of everything in her world, that she couldn't. That one spark of happiness had been easily and quickly overwhelmed.  
  
she said, suddenly. It was better this way, really. So much better ... simpler, to put it all out in the open. I want you to accept that I ... have grown. I am to be married, Peter. Just ... just try to understand ...  
  
I can't, Peter said firmly. I don't understand it at all. I ... I don't believe that you really ... His firmness softened, and he fought the urge to look away from her.  
  
Why must you hate him so?, Wendy asked, avoiding his questions. He hasn't done anything to you.  
  
I just have a bad feeling about him, said Peter, as though it were obvious that Caleb was not a decent human being, obvious that his own assumptions were always right. Wendy frowned, looking back toward the window.  
  
That is ... silly, she said quietly. Caleb is ... wonderful.  
  
She sighed then, and slowly, she walked to her bed and sat on its edge, her pale blue skirt puddling in soft waves around her legs. She stared out the window, her face hidden.  
  
Peter frowned, hearing the pauses in her voice. Cautiously, he crept forward, kneeling onto the bed from the side opposite of the side Wendy was sitting; her back was to him. He knelt on the bed, slowly crawling across so that, in just a few moments, he was sitting lazily on her bed behind her; behind her and quite near.  
  
Wendy turned toward him, her lips spread open in surprise, but she did not protest.  
  
Do you love him, Wendy?, he asked softly. She froze, rigid; and then shakily, she relaxed, heaving a great sigh as gently as she could bear to, trying her best to hold back her tears.  
  
she lied, because it was simpler that way. Better that way ... for both of them. Neither of them would hurt each other ever again.  
  
Peter felt his body and soul tense. His fingers curled into a tight fist, ruthlessly gripping her soft bedsheets. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but it was. Wendy loved him ... loved Caleb. It would be cruel to do anything to separate them, to kill Wendy's chance at happiness.  
  
He would let it be, no matter how much it ate away at him inside.   
  
There was one thing, though, that he could not let be. He would finish his confession. He would let Wendy know the truth- the whole truth ... and when he was confident that she understood, he would return to Neverland forever, growing or not.  
  
First, though, he supposed he had to understand. He would ask about love, and if it turned out that he ... then ... she would know. And he would disappear, leaving her to her bright future.  
  
he said softly. What is love?  
  
Slowly, she turned to him, wet streaks on her pale face. He froze inside- why was she crying? When had she begun to cry again?  
  
Love, Peter, she began softly, so quietly that he could barely make out her words, is ... love is ...  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Nine --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Sort of a cliffhanger? I wouldn't, usually, but I need someplace to start for the next chapter. ^^;; It's sometimes quite hard to begin each chapter, you know? This one was also hard to end ... I think their conversation will be a bit long, so I didn't want to put it all into Chapter Nine. I'm sorry if this isn't okay. ;_;  
  
**Beta readers: **Thank you so much for the kind response! I will be reviewing my emails and deciding how to go about this very soon. That's all I'll say, I suppose. If you're still dying to be a beta: anthy17@hotmail.com. But otherwise, just ... thank you!  
  
Please do come back for Chapter Ten ... I'll try my best to do a good job of it. ^_^ 


	10. Hidden Decision

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: It's Saturday night and I smell like popcorn. I, uhm ... don't really have much to say tonight, other than yay for everyone who reads, and double yay for everyone who reads and reviews! Everyone has been so thoughtful and kind. *warm hug* Thank you so much for your support.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** No questions. *sniff*  
  
And now the story!  
  
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Wendy whispered softly, is love is when   
  
asked Peter, leaning forward toward her pale face and trembling lips. Wendy frowned nervously, feeling tears begin to sting her eyes. She wanted anything than to continue, but her soul was kind, in all senses giving and she would deny him nothing.  
  
It's when, she continued quietly, the soul of another person fulfills you. This person that you love is your match; they fill in the missing parts of you, so that when you are with them, you feel complete. And when you are with them, you feel as though nothing can be truly wrong. They heal you, and make you believe that so long as you are not separated anything is possible. Love is when you feel for someone so deeply, Peter, that to be without them is to live forever without the rest of yourself, to be always alone and incomplete.  
  
Peter simply stared at her, his eyes wide. He wanted to say something, to assure her of his understanding; for somehow, he truly did understand, though only in a place locked deep within him. He wanted to say, Wendy, I felt always like that. I was always so alone and   
  
But the words would not come. Only a memory, and a question.  
  
Peter whispered. Wendy raised an eyebrow curiously; the way he said it seemed somehow so familiar.  
  
What do you mean?, she questioned, looking into his eyes. They seemed different now as though the playful spark had momentarily flickered out.  
  
Is a person that is without the one he loves, Peter repeated in more words, Are they deficient?  
  
In the saddest way, Wendy replied, sighing gently. Peter felt his heart still at this, though he could not remember exactly why he had asked this question. Her answer resonated as true somehow; so painfully true.  
  
And you, Peter whispered, looking distantly at and far beyond her, are complete with him?  
  
Wendy stared at him for a moment, but then found she had to turn away. The tears were burning in her eyes like liquid fire, and her heart was lunging at her mind, clawing it wildly; tell him the truth, it screamed. Tell him about the gaping hole you know has always been there.  
  
Instead she breathed in deeply, calming herself and her most genuine urges. Forgive me, Peter, her mind answered in reply. Forgive me for not telling you, but truly you would not understand. I can't bear to hurt you, so I must lie   
  
There are things that I can have with him, she said slowly, carefully, that do complete me.  
  
Like what?, Peter found himself whispering, though he didn't want to know. Oh, how horribly he didn't want to know   
  
Like children, Wendy continued, her eyes blank. We'll have the sweetest children, and I will care for them. That will complete me. And I I will have companionship surely that will will   
  
She trailed off, unable to finish under Peter's fixed, unblinking gaze.  
  
Can't you have children of your own, he asked desperately, and care for them yourself?  
  
No, Peter, Wendy whispered. It doesn't work that way.  
  
Why not?, he choked, wanting desperately to reach out and shake her, to make her believe his words by force.  
  
Wendy said shakily, Because ... a woman cannot hope to properly support children on her own. They need food, clothing, schoolbooks, a nice home to sleep in, toys it isn't like the Neverland. You need finances for children, and the husband does this for his family.  
  
That doesn't seem fair at all, Peter mumbled. He knew that Wendy, even without having finances, was a wonderful mother. More than a wonderful mother ...  
  
It isn't, she whispered, but her voice was so soft that Peter never heard her. A warm tear escaped her gentle blue eyes, sliding down her face; nothing in her life was fair any longer.  
  
Peter simply sat there, numb, on the bed. There seemed no way to solve it. Wendy loved this man, and he would do things for her- husband things- that he could not, for he had no understanding of finances, or even of the world in which she lived. He could not care for her with money.  
  
But he did love her, his heart whispered. So much more than him, so much more   
  
And Peter's mind heard the whisper, and he believed, just for one moment, that he could change. He would be willing to go out and learn how to be a man, a man in her world, a man in an office who made money, so that he could give her everything she wanted. He would even go out and find children for her, somewhere. He could do everything that a   
  
But then, he remembered. Wendy did not love him. She loved Caleb. It was he that made her complete, and took away her loneliness. Peter knew this, realized this, because always in his own presence, Wendy seemed so sad and distant and surely, if they were meant to love, she would be happy with him.  
  
His heart clenched painfully as he decided. He would still go. He would leave Wendy to her love and her future, and he would return to Neverland, alone so that she could be happy. So that she could live in peace.  
  
Wendy whispered, frightened at the way he was staring numbly out into thin air.  
  
he said, startled. He turned to her. What is it, Wendy?  
  
Wendy frowned, startled herself. It was not like him to be so quiet, so distant so solemn.  
  
Let's let us go out tonight, she said cautiously, with the boys. We can have fun together. They'll love it, I'm sure.  
  
said Peter, a bit surprised. He didn't want their conversation to be over, and at yet, deep inside him, he was relieved that it was. He would love to have fun with her one last time. That sounds great.  
  
Wendy smiled shakily, though Peter knew immediately that it was fake.  
  
she said. We can show you the sights of London. I know that you've flown above it, but surely you've never been a part of it? She continued her smile encouragingly.  
  
Peter frowned at this comment. It was true; he did not belong here. For Wendy's sake, though, he did not reveal that the comment had stung him.  
  
That's right, he said, watching as Wendy stood. She looked down at him, and despite her little smile, Peter flinched, seeing that the swirling black pain still clouded her blue eyes, eyes that had once been clear and pale with innocence.  
  
I'll go get the boys, she said softly, and with that, she hurried out of her bedroom, leaving the door hanging open just slightly.  
  
Peter, frowning, stood and walked to the door. He shut with a soft click.  
  
He would try to enjoy his final time with Wendy. He really, truly would.  
  
  
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I do believe you'll quite like London, Peter, one of the twins said cheerily as Wendy, one knee on the front room floor, helped his brother into his coat. It's very busy. Like the fairy tree, only with people!  
  
Wendy smiled fondly at this mention of fairies, but did not speak. She simply turned the boy around, quickly buttoning his light jacket.  
  
I can do that myself, you know, he said stubbornly, and it was true, he could; he was far too old to have his coat be buttoned for him. Wendy looked into his eyes and smiled sadly.  
  
I do know, she said quietly, But you see I'll be gone soon, and please let me.  
  
He stared into the wet eyes of his big sister, his lips parted with surprise, and nodded.  
  
Thank you, Wendy said almost cheerfully. Peter, have you found a coat for yourself yet? It gets chilly in the dark.  
  
I suppose I'll just wear this old thing of John's, he said sullenly, holding out the patched brown coat with some distaste. He greatly missed his old, freeform outfit sewn from leaves.  
  
That's good, Wendy said smoothly, and just as she turned toward Peter with a little smile, Michael burst into the front room from the parlor, panting.  
  
Father and Mother say it's quite all right to go out tonight with you, sister dear, he said, grinning, his face slightly flushed. In fact, Father says that it will be nice to have the house quiet for an evening.  
  
Peter rolled his eyes at this. Your father has no sense of fun at all, does he?  
  
said Nibs knowing, I think he's just too old. Lost it after a time, you know.  
  
Peter felt a cold shiver run up his spine at these words. If he was to continuing growing, he hoped with all this heart to die before reaching that dreadful turning point.  
  
said Wendy authoritatively, Go and call us a ride, won't you?  
  
Yes, of course, he said excitedly, and after throwing on his own light coat, he disappeared through the front doors.  
  
A few minutes later, Wendy had finished her examination of the boys, finding them all well-prepared for the chilly night. Peter had muttered cruse words when she had forced him to button up his own old, borrowed brown coat, his chest still bare under the green silk shirt Wendy had given to him, which was still hanging open. Buttoning the old coat made it feel much too constricting.  
  
He surrendered when Wendy stubbornly stepped forward to button them herself; he had blushed and stepped back, reaching up his hands to do it himself.  
  
Are we all ready?, she said loudly, and the front room was filled with the cheering of the bundled-up boys. She smiled gently, and then turned to Peter as if saying with her eyes, See how endearing they are?  
  
Peter stared for a moment, then smiled back. That particular smile of hers had seemed very real this time.  
  
Following Wendy as baby geese follow their mother, the boys, Peter taking up the end, walked out of the front door and into the slightly dark street. Michael stood on the sidewalk, talking politely with a top-hatted man. Both looked up when Wendy, Peter and the little hoard of boys flooded the walk.  
  
Peter's eyes widened in surprise. There, on the street, was a buggy attached by leather robes and reins to a large, chestnut brown creature. He had seen them from the air, but never so close, and their size intimidated him slightly. He jumped, startled, when it whinnied.  
  
The boys flooded around and past him, and to his shock he saw that they were heading toward the creature, crowding around it and reaching up to pat its snout. The horse again made its strange, ringing cry, and the boys laughed.  
  
Do come pet the horse, Peter, Slightly said cheerfully, sneaking a little red apple out from his pocket. They're really quite friendly things.  
  
Cautiously, Peter approached the beast, taking the little apple that Slightly held out to him hopefully. He held it tightly in his fist, his fingernails making little crescent slices in its skin. And then, suddenly, he whipped his hand under the horse's nose.  
  
It sniffed the apple, and then, eagerly, it reached down its snout and crunched into it. Peter felt his throat tightened when he first saw its big teeth. The thing – horse?- swallowed the apple in just a few bites, and Peter let its bitten core fall with a soft thud onto the street.  
  
Pet it, Peter, one of the twins urged, and at this all the boys reached out to touch the creature's nose. Tentatively, he did so as well, gasping when he did. The soft fur of the horse's nose felt like his green silk shirt to the touch, warm and satiny.  
  
Suddenly, the horse sneezed, spraying tiny chunks of apple all over Nibs' face. All the boys laughed, Peter the loudest.  
  
Now now, boys, said Wendy, giggling, Stop playing with the horse and get into the buggy. We can't keep the man waiting!  
  
The boys obeyed, patting the horse good-bye and heading for the open door of the buggy. It was real trick to fit all the boys into it, and when they had, everyone was squeezed together like sardines. The twins even had to sit up in the driver's seat (to their delight), one on either side of the buggy driver, who was most disgruntled. He hated children.  
  
Peter, however, found that he was very much enjoying himself especially since Wendy was seated just next to him, their arms and thighs pressed together tightly, her pale blue dress spilling a little into his lap. He felt his body grow strangely hot- but hadn't Wendy said it was a chilly night out tonight?  
  
Where to, Miss?, one of the twins said in a very deep voice, turning around to face the buggy. The real buggy driver scowled at the imitation.  
  
Charleston Theatre, she said warmly, and the driver snapped the reins.  
  
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Peter had never been to a play before, and he found that he greatly disliked having to be shoved in such a tight space with so, so many people, even if you did get your own seat. It was hot and loud, and had he wanted to fly to his seat, he would have never been able to except by way of ceiling. The place was simply packed.  
  
Wendy and the boys seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, so he sat down in his seat placidly, trying his best to looked pleased himself.  
  
It's starting, Nibs hissed at him as the lights began to go dark. Peter turned to Wendy, watching her eyes turn intently on the lighted stage; he turned his head and did so as well, taking her lead.  
  
His head was swimming before the end of the first act. The people in this play didn't speak like normal people did; the words were different, and they sounded so muddled to him. Perhaps it was a foreign play?  
  
he whispered, turning his lips toward her ear. What is this play called?  
  
_Romeo and Juliet_, she whispered, then turned back toward the stage. Peter did so as well, unsatisfied. Knowing the title of the play didn't help his comprehension of its language one bit. Although ... as he continued to watch, he found that he somehow liked it, even if he _was_ mostly going just by the actions of the actors.  
  
He held in his breath when they kissed during the party, and as he was holding it in, the old ache seized his heart once again. He felt, deep within himself, how badly he too wanted to be kissed again and as he did he turned his head briefly toward Wendy, taking in her dark, shadowed silhouette, her lips parted in focus.  
  
He turned back to the play, blushing. Unfortunately for him, he had turned back to the middle of the balcony scene, and the blushing did not cease. His eyes widened as he listened to the sweet, honeyed words of the lovers watched the boy look so desperately up at her and though no words passed through his mind then, he was, unconsciously, taking notes.  
  
He rather liked the rest of the play, but felt heavy inside when the boy took the poison and fell dead and the girl's feet. It reminded him miserably of Tinker Bell, and he shuddered.   
  
Just as the poor girl was stirring awake, Nibs turned to him, eyes alight.  
  
Oh, wait until you see Peter, he said cheerfully. This here is the best part of all.  
  
And as if on clue, the girl screamed, plunging a dagger into her chest. Peter's eyes widened in shock as Nibs' head shot immediately back to the stage, intent on watching every moment of the death scene.  
  
Finally, the girl lay still on the floor of the crypt. Nibs stood up in the sea of dark, tearful onlookers, and began to applaud loudly.  
  
Oh, lovely!, he cried out in a joyful voice, Superb job, wonderful acting! Bravo! Twas a beautiful death!  
  
The audience gasped at this, and Wendy put her head in her hands, sighing deeply as she shook it. The onstage Juliet opened her closed eyes in shock, staring at Nibs as he continued to applaud, cheer, and compliment. Finally, he sat down once again, grinning widely.  
  
Mary Mother of God, Wendy whispered tensely, finally looking up. Peter tried his best to hold back his own grin; he had always favored Nibs.  
  
They were quite the spectacles as Wendy quickly led them all out of the theatre after the play, the recipients of many dirty looks and appalled stares. Nibs seemed quite smug, however , as he walked through the lobby, and his night was made when he found that some of the actors had assembled there, signing playbills and wishing their audience farewell.   
  
He blushed as red as a rose when Juliet kissed him good-naturedly on the forehead. She had really been quite flattered.  
  
Wendy was relieved that the rest of the night went quietly; at least, as quietly as normal. It was very amusing, yes, and they all were having great fun but for her, it was more serene than fun. Peter laughed and talked with the boys, but there were times when he turned to her, expressionless, and looked at her as though he were looking at her for the last time. It sent a cold shiver of fear through her heart; he had never looked at her that way before.  
  
It scared Wendy that he was beginning to remind her of herself.  
  
After the play, they all went to the busier downtown area of London, where they strolled peacefully down the shopping streets. The boys stopped at many of the windows, pressing their noses against the glass to get a good look at all the sparkling, somehow perfect items displayed inside. They especially loved the toy stores, to whose windows they cried out in awe and longing.  
  
They even went to show Peter Big Ben, the great clock. While staring up at it from the ground, however, they realized what a silly idea that was; he had seen it many times before, and he had had a much better view from the sky.  
  
And so it was that at long past ten, the boys, sleepy and satisfied, squeezed themselves into another buggy with Wendy and Peter for the ride home. Once again, the two were seated next to each other, pressed tightly against each other's sides.   
  
And again, Peter felt himself grow hot in the chilly night air.  
  
That was great fun, Wendy, said Nibs, who was still blushing from the actress' kiss- or was it merely the cold flushing his cheeks? May we do it again tomorrow night?  
  
No, dear, she replied softly. Tomorrow I have a date with Caleb. We're going out dancing.  
  
Nibs scowled at this, muttering a response that Wendy highly suspected was an insult. She said nothing, however, caring little; she knew that the boys disliked Caleb as much as Peter appeared to. At first, she had thought that they were merely being protective of their older sister, but now she wasn't so sure. Sometimes children could sense things much better than those older than them.  
  
This was fun, Peter seconded when Nibs failed to reply. I mean, I ... thank you.  
  
Don't thank me, silly, Wendy said easily, yawning. I had just as good of a time as you did.   
  
And she had. All the fun of trailing seven boys all night, Peter not included, had worn out her already strained body, and she yawned again, suddenly finding the rhythmic jousting of the buggy very soothing. She let her eyelids droop, her mind relax along with her tired body   
  
With a little sigh of exhaustion, Wendy's head slumped gently onto Peter's shoulder.  
  
He blushed deeply, unsure of what to do. His body froze in response to his nervous mind; he couldn't move an inch, not at the risk of waking Wendy. He sat there, stiff and nervous as blood rushed into his cheeks   
  
The boys crammed in all around him grinned at this, for they knew that which the couple would not admit to each other.  
  
Enjoying the warm tingle that ran through his body at Wendy's accidental touch, Peter sighed, releasing the tension he had been holding in for hours now. He looked toward the blushing Nibs, and then his thoughts drifted to the play with the strange language would he die for her, he wondered? Could he go that far, just for a feeling?  
  
Yes, his heart answered in a tiny whisper. Far and so much farther.  
  
The lovers of the play had known each other for a night, and it took them only that long to fall so desperately, deeply in love. Peter had known Wendy for weeks, years if you counted the time he'd spent far from her, suffering and trying to pretending that she had not impacted him and perhaps perhaps he, too, had known from the start. Had loved from the start.  
  
Sighing once again, he tilted his head to toward Wendy's brow, letting his cheek rest gently on her soft, warm auburn hair. He could hear her peaceful breathing, and once again, the ache swelled in him; this would be the last night he spent near her.  
  
Almost unconsciously, Peter discreetly reached out his hand, knowing it was half hidden in the darkness. He searched with it through folds of pale blue, and then, he felt it. He took her warm hand into his, squeezing it gently as Wendy slept on.  
  
If I don't love her,' he wondered, feeling a tear fill the rim of his eye, his hand firmly laced in her sleeping one, then why is it that when I think of leaving her ... I feel so hollow inside?'  
  
As if she had heard his thoughts and was reaching through her dreams to comfort him, Wendy stirred in her sleep, and then, a moment later, the warm hand in Peter's own squeezed it gently. It fell limp again, and Peter closed his eyes, listening to the voice inside himself.  
  
He thought, with that gentle, affectionate squeeze, that he would never need to question his heart again. It didn't matter to him if for Wendy, and for himself, their true bond was fully expressed only in their distant dreams. It was, and always would be, heartbreakingly real to him.  
  
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End Chapter Ten  
  
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** Ending Notes**: I wrote this a few days ago ... mmm, and truly, I do like it. The bit with Nibs really makes no sense, and is completely and totally random, but I like that too. My favourite part is the ending, where he takes her hand in the dark ... *sigh*, so sad. Thank you for all the beautiful reviews! I love you all!  
  
**Beta readers: **I will be emailing volunteers to read Chapter Eleven once it's done, and I'll include some questions and so on and so forth. Thank you so much to everyone who applied. I love you a lot! Really, a lot! *huggle*  
  
I hope you come back for Chapter Eleven. ^_^ Thanks for reading!


	11. Virgin Thoughts

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Another sucky night for me, but at least you all get a non-sucky chapter. I just want to thank everyone again for their love and support *smiles a bit*. Your reviews have really helped me to write, motivated me to write, and inspired me to do well. I thank you. *hug*  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** Someone sent me a very well-written email a few days ago about how they were disappointed that Caleb's character was so one-sided. I understand your point, truly, I do, but I didn't want to establish Caleb as just a nice guy who was also competition for Peter. Wendy didn't meet him somewhere and fall in love with him like we all normally would before we would get engaged ... their engagement isn't exactly, what's the word ... legit. You'll see in a few chapters. Thank you for the great email. ^_^ I'm happy to have such intelligent readers!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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At last, the buggy rolled to a silent stop on the dark street.  
  
Peter paid the top-hatted driver with money from Wendy's tiny white purse, as the boys assured him she would have wanted him to. He frowned when he peered inside it; despite being rather clueless when it came to matters of money, he still knew what nearly empty meant as far as wealth.  
  
He knew that Wendy probably didn't have much money, knew that she had spent a good deal of it tonight, out treating her brothers and himself to a fun time. It was so unselfish of her. That was the way she was, and that was what made her beautiful inside. It wasn't that she gave so much as she gave without wanting, gave without expecting something in return, even special kindness. She just wanted to care for others, make them happy despite her own welfare. It was the mother within her, always shining through.  
  
Peter leaned into the buggy after all the boys had left it and picked up Wendy, still sleeping peacefully, in his strong arms. With the sleepy boys following behind him in a tired little procession, he made his way up the front steps, letting her head rest on his bare chest while he watched her ankles dangle gracefully from beneath the folds of her dress.  
  
He took her into her bedroom, laying her down gently on top of her bed. He thought for a moment of tucking her into it, but then feared waking her. Instead, he found a spare blanket on the top shelf of her wardrobe and spread it over her body, all the way up to her softly heaving shoulders. When he had done this, he leaned over the bed, holding his body up with his arm, his hand pressed down near her shoulder.  
  
She was so beautiful.  
  
It took all his willpower not climb onto the bed and lie next to her, to cradle her sleeping body against his aching heart. It was a strange, unfamiliar urge to him, but was despite this overwhelming strong. He wanted to be near to her, to be comforted by her presence. He wanted never to leave.  
  
He knew, however, that he had to. This would be the last night he would spend with her.  
  
He had to let her go, let her be free to love Caleb and find children, to have a family and a proper husband, to have everything she had ever wanted. Even in the Neverland, that was all she ever asked of them. She only wanted to care for them, to cook for them, to watch over them, to comfort them. She had soothed countless nightmares away for him in the middle of the night, and at the time, he had been ashamed over this fact, but now the memory was priceless.  
  
All she had ever wanted was to be a mother, to have a father and a husband to stay by her. He could never be those things for her, and she did not love him. He would go.  
  
I suppose, he whispered, leaning down over her face so that his warm breath brushed her cheek, that I should give this back to you before you marry him. You were wrong, Wendy. It was never mine.  
  
He tilted his head slightly, and closing his eyes, he leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly to hers, reveling in their softness and warmth. It was painful for him to pull away- he wanted to kiss her for a much longer time- but a long time was not necessary. He had given back her kiss.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked down at her, breathing heavily. Even though she could not respond, the kiss had been beautiful to him. Being able to taste her beauty so directly, so intimately, was nearly as wonderful as she was in spirit.  
  
He thought then that it might be easier if he simply left then, fly straight out the window and back to a home that would never satisfy him again. He had promised himself, though, that it was tomorrow night that he would leave. He would keep to his promise.  
  
That and, he did not wish to leave Wendy. He simply knew that he had to.  
  
He leaned forward again, this time kissing her moon-kissed cheek, and as he closed his eyes, a warm tear slid down his cheek.  
  
Goodnight, fairy girl, he whispered to her skin. Goodnight, and goodbye.  
  
He pulled away slowly from her, staring down at her face until finally, he turned to go. He left her bedroom as silently as he could, tiptoeing across the hall so that he could curl up and dream nightmares on the nursery floor.  
  
  
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You're like a statue, Wendy, scolded Curly. You sit there and read still as a stone all day, just like John.  
  
Wendy looked up from her reading, frowning slightly. Breakfast was long over, and now the boys were all gathered in the parlor playing games in the afternoon sunlight. Peter was among them, but he stayed far from her, playing with the boys in only a halfhearted way. He was strangely quiet and without energy, and when he looked at her, Wendy felt as though a stream of cold water was sliding down her spine.  
  
It wouldn't hurt if you read more, you know, she said back tartly. You boys all read the bare minimum, I swear it.  
  
Sitting still is no fun at all, Slightly retorted, offended at her comment. Playing is much more exciting!  
  
yelped Curly. Let us fight, Gunstock Jack! Oh ho!  
  
Wendy sighed and returned to her reading.  
  
She was not to be left alone for long, however. Soon, the boys grew restless again, and finally turned back to pestering her.  
  
Oh Wendy, said Nibs sweetly, Do stop reading! Play with us?  
  
I'm much too tired, she said softly. Indeed, she was very tired inside, for tonight was her date with Caleb.  
  
Then tell us a story!, he cried happily, and all the boys turned their heads and immediately cheered, eager for one of Wendy's tales. Peter looked up at her in interest, though no smile played across his features.  
  
Oh, please do Wendy!, Curly begged.  
  
A good one!, Slightly encouraged.  
  
And one with pirates!, yelped the twins in unison. Wendy found herself smiling just a little bit.  
  
Very well, she said, I shall tell a story. Once again, every boy less Peter cheered loudly. He was still just staring.  
  
Which shall I tell?, she asked. Immediately, Slightly's hand shot up and began wavering in the air.  
  
Slightly dear?, Wendy asked, calling upon him.  
  
Please, tell Cinderella!, he said, grinning. All the other boys nodded their heads happily in unison, agreeing with this choice.  
  
Peter froze, his eyes intent on Wendy. Cinderella had been the story that he had once returned night after night to hear, the story that he'd kept the boys in suspense with for weeks. He had loved that story once but years had gone by, and he could no longer remember its details.  
  
He wanted to know again.  
  
Please, Wendy, Peter found himself saying quietly, Tell Cinderella.  
  
Wendy winced internally at the gentleness in his voice since last night, Peter had seemed to become, somehow, so broken in spirit. His quietness unnerved her, but the look in his eyes, the calm, almost sad way he spoke to her that nearly broke her own, if there were any parts of it at all left hidden in her heart still whole.  
  
Well, all right, she said softly. If you all would like to hear.  
  
We do, Curly assured, and he and his brothers gathered in a semicircle at her feet, sitting down so quickly that her white petticoat rustled as though a gentle breeze had just blown through the parlor room. Peter took a seat in an overstuffed armchair just behind the group, his eyes locked on the storyteller.  
  
Once upon a time, Wendy began, and she smiled a little at this, for truly, it was such a cheery phrase somehow, There lived a very happy girl who lived in a grand house with her father, who-  
  
What about her mother?, Nibs interrupted curiously.  
  
She hadn't a mother, Wendy answered. She had died a long, long time ago. Only her father was left to care for her, but this was not so bad, as it brought them closer together. They loved each other dearly.  
  
said Nibs. Do go on.  
  
Thank you, said Wendy tartly. Who was wealthy and kind, and gave his daughter every pleasure she could want. She didn't want much, though, because she was not a selfish or spoiled child. In fact, instead of wanting fancy toys and clothes, she was quite happy to play make-believe in the garden, and talk to the animals.  
  
Did they talk back?, Slightly asked, leaning forward with interest.  
  
Oh, yes, Wendy assured him. They loved the girl dearly, for she was very kind to them. Every morning, she gave them bread crumbs, and they sang for her.  
  
Oh, lovely!, sighed Curly.  
  
But all this loveliness could not last, said Wendy, and silence fell over the boys. Because one day, her father married a perfectly dreadful woman who had two daughters that were just like her. This woman hated the girl, but she would never show this in front of her new husband. She had married him for his wealth.  
  
Disgusting action, muttered Nibs. Horrible lady, don't you think, Slightly?  
  
Miserable woman, he answered passionately. I'm glad I don't have _her_ for a mother.  
  
And her two daughters hated the girl too, Wendy continued. They were very fond of beautiful and expensive clothing and things, just like their mother, and they laughed when they saw the girl playing happily in the garden, talking to her friends and singing back to them. They thought it was disgraceful to waste time playing in a dirty garden with filthy little creatures.  
  
But the birds were nice!, Slightly whined.  
  
Only when you were kind to them, Wendy said flowingly. They hated the girl's stepsisters just as they were hated, and they would swoop at them and yank their hair, and sometimes they would fly above them and well anyway, the girl's new family hated her, but for the most part, she was ignored.  
  
How tragic, sighed Nibs.  
  
Oh no, that wasn't the worst of it, Wendy said warningly. For not long after he married the girl's stepmother, her father grew gravely ill, and sadly, he passed on, leaving the stepmother to care for his dear only daughter.  
  
What happened then?, Curly asked, impatient and urging.  
  
The stepmother refused to treat the girl like one of her own children, Wendy said, a sad gleam in her blue eyes. And because she hated her so, she made the girl into a servant, who did all the dirtiest housework- whatever the stepmother could find for her to do, and she was very creative.  
  
Oh, poor Cinderella, cried out the twins in unison.  
  
She got her name, Wendy said, easily accommodating the interruption, Because she had no bed, and was forced to sleep near the fire, among all the black ashes, just to stay warm. She read by the firelight, too- it was her only escape. Oh, and of course, the garden creatures. She spoke to them often as she did her outdoor chores, and they loved her even more, because not once did she complain to them.  
  
Bless her heart, sighed Slightly in a noble imitation of an adult.  
  
When was the Ball, then?, Curly asked again, still wanting to get on with the story.  
  
It was when Cinderella had grown to be a young woman, Wendy said, smiling a little. The house received a very fancy invitation from the Prince himself, inviting all eligible maids to come a Ball in three days time. It didn't say on the card, but there was a rumor going around that at the Ball, the Prince would choose a wife.  
  
said Nibs. What a good idea, huh?  
  
said Wendy. But Cinderella's stepmother was not about to let her go   
  
Peter stared at the storyteller, eyes unfocused, as the story went on. It was a familiar tale, of course, but hearing it once again, brought alive by the sound of her sweet voice, brought it completely back to life for him. He watched her hands twirl, mimicking the fairy godmother's wand, smiled a little when the boys ooo'd and ahh'd. Still, the story seemed completely different so distant now, somehow.  
  
And all too soon, it was over.  
  
And when the Prince saw that the slipper fit her slender foot perfectly, Wendy said proudly, He stood from his knees and drew her to her feet, embracing her. He took her hand in his and kissed her for the very first time, for the first of many times, and declared then that she would be his wife and Queen.  
  
And then?, one of the boys asked, all leaning forward with anticipation.  
  
Well, that's the end, said Wendy. They lived happily from then on.  
  
How do you know?, Nibs asked, sad that the story had ended.  
  
Well, that's just the way it was, said Wendy, frowning slightly. That's the end of the story.  
  
Did they get married?, Curly asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.  
  
Of course they married, said Wendy. I just told you that! And then he declared that she would be his wife and Queen.' The end, they lived happily from then on.  
  
I fancy her wedding gown was pink, said Nibs knowingly. Like the one she wore to the Ball.  
  
Wendy smiled a little at this; children were so forgiving.  
  
she said fondly. Wedding gowns aren't pink. They're always white.  
  
Peter, still seated alone in his armchair, frowned. He hated Wendy's wedding dress, wherever it had been hidden in its big white box.  
  
Why are they?, asked Slightly, and Wendy frowned a bit, knowing that the boys could not understand something so devoid of reason as .  
  
she said slowly. The white symbolizes the bride's purity, her chastity. It means that she's a well, a v-virgin and ahh   
  
Wendy blushed a deep red, unable to go on. The boys simply stared up at her, some smirking, some frowning deeply. Most of them (being curious little boys) knew exactly why she was blushing. If some didn't, however they still knew that a wedding night was a thing to blush over.  
  
Peter leaned forward, frowning. His heart was beating much too hard, tightened with the ache. The growing need inside himself to scream out and damn all weddings was becoming overpowering, and so, he parted his lips and asked a question he was sure would detour everyone from the thought of marriage.  
  
What's a virgin?, he asked simply, his elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand cupping his bronze cheek.  
  
The boys turned around in shock, and Wendy brought a hand to her lips as she blushed five shades deeper. She felt her tongue twist and tangle in her mouth, felt all previous thoughts slip away she stared openly at Peter, at his bare copper chest and disheveled, curly dirty blonde hair, his emerald green eyes   
  
Heart pounding, she blinked, cursing herself. When she opened her eyes, Peter was still staring at her waiting.  
  
A v-virgin is ahh well, that is, she's a woman who, uhm, Wendy tried to explain, failing miserably as she watched Peter suck in his bottom lip slightly, listening intently to her. A woman who has has never been married! Yes, been married! A virgin is a woman is just about to be married, isn't that right, boys?  
  
Oh, right on, assured Nibs. Like a bride, only better!  
  
In a white dress, Slightly seconded, snorting into the cup of his palm.  
  
Peter frowned a bit, but accepted this strange explanation.  
  
he said, feeling slightly embarrassed. I didn't know.  
  
He settled back into his chair, thinking this over and deciding that it would be best if he confirmed everything just to make sure he understood.  
  
he ventured carefully. So that would mean you're a virgin?  
  
She blushed deeply, looking down into her lap at her twisting, sweaty hands.  
  
Yes, Peter, she whispered softly. I am.  
  
he replied, frowning. Are you all right? You look so warm, do you have a fever?  
  
Wendy shook her head unsteadily, still staring down into her lap. She cleared her throat, loudly, as if intending to speak, but coughed instead, and suddenly, cheeks burning, she stood.  
  
"Yes," she said shakily. "I feel quite ill, and I am going up to my room so that I might sleep it off before I must go out!"  
  
And, with an apologetic glance at the boys and a long, fearful stare at Peter, she swept out of the room in a rustling, red-faced blur.  
  
Peter watched her go, slack-jawed. He turned back to the boys when he heard her door close much too loudly.  
  
"What happened?," he asked meekly, and the boys simply smirked, halos hovering invisible over their minds.  
  
"Oh, she's a lady is all," said Nibs. "Play with us, Peter?"  
  
  
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End Chapter Eleven - Part One  
  
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** Ending Notes**: This chapter was like, insanely long. It was, mmm ... maybe sixteen pages? Soo ... I decided to cut it down into the same size file as Chapter Ten and to post the remaining four to five pages in a few days. There was a lot to absorb in this chapter, I think, so I'll let the big bang wait until later.  
  
**Beta readers: **I will probably be emailing you the remainder of this chapter to read over. I will most likely not ask -everyone- who asked to beta to beta (there were lots o_o), but rather I'll just pick out random people and then later, other random people. I hope that's all right with you all. And if you get an email from me and decide that beta-ing is not for you, then that's cool. Just tell me.  
  
***** **Does anyone do Peter Pan fanart or know a site of it with Peter and Wendy romance themes? I believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, and if you know of some really good work, I would love to see it and share it with others via my fanfic. I love art. =)  
  
*** Oh, and uhm, I noticed that some reviewers are Harry Potter fans ... do you think I might do well with a Harry and Draco ficcie? (They're my favourite couple. ^_^).  
  
  
Please come back for Chapter Eleven Part Two! ^_^ I will post it soon, I'm sure. 


	12. Heavy Heart

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Ahh! Over 350 reviews! I love you aaall sooo much! *huuuggle* Feedback makes my day, really, it does. Thank you so much to everyone who makes that extra effort to review. You're wonderful and kind and loved! And because of you, I don't post only once every two months or something! ^_^  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**Review Questions Answered!** No questions. *sniff*  
  
And now the story!  
  
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The boys did play, though Peter was unable to stay with any one pretend very long- his mind was muddled and disoriented, his thoughts jumbled and confused. What had he said or done to upset Wendy so much?  
  
"Ah hah!," yelped Slightly. "I hath pierced thy spleen, formidable Lockjawed John! Oh ho! Now die!"  
  
"Ugggh," cried Nibs, holding the wooden sword under his shirt. "Blllaarrggghhh and I die. Oh farewell, good world! Parting is such sweet sorrow!"  
  
He fell over dramatically, and just as Peter was about to clap along with the twins, the booming sound of a loud knocking resonated through the parlor. Immediately, the door of Mr. Darling's quiet office banged open, and out he came, walking briskly to get the door. He frowned when he glanced in the parlor, seeing it strewn with playthings.  
  
He turned back to the door, however, much too busy to care. He opened it widely, and standing there was Caleb, his hair slicked back and wearing a fine gray suit with a navy silk tie. In his arms was a bundle of red roses.  
  
Peter scowled deeply as Caleb bowed to Mr. Darling and entered, grinning widely.  
  
"How are you, Mr. Darling?," he nearly purred, shaking his hand. "I trust everything is going well for you?"  
  
"Oh, yes, quite well," said Mr. Darling, shooting daggers in the boys' direction. "I _would_ offer to seat you in the parlor while you wait, but oh, Wendy should be down soon enough. Surely she heard you knocking."  
  
"Oh, I don't mind waiting at all," said Caleb graciously. He reached into his suit, pulling out a thin white envelope. "In fact, it's rather convenient that Wendy isn't here "  
  
He handed the envelope to Mr. Darling, who, looking slightly flustered, slid it into his own suit.  
  
"That letter outlines the terms of our arrangement," Caleb said in a low voice. "I'm sure you'll find everything to be just as we discussed."  
  
"Oh," said Mr. Darling, looking about himself to make sure that his wife was nowhere near. "Oh, of course. Surely just as we discussed."  
  
"Wonderful," said Caleb cheerily, and with that, he turned from Mr. Darling and toward the parlor, where all the boys were standing, staring at him warily. Peter was standing as well, heading up the back of the group with black fire in his eyes.  
  
"Boooys," he sang, walking up to Nibs and ruffling his already messy hair roughly. Nibs scowled, squirming out from under Caleb's hand.   
  
"Hello," Nibs said resentfully. "Caaaleb." He sang his name in the same mocking tone that Caleb had sang "boys".  
  
"Erm, hello," the other boys mumbled in low voices, all of them longing desperately to kick Caleb in the shin, except of course for Peter, who wanted to do _so_ much more.  
  
"It looks like you're having fun," Caleb said, looking around at the messy room with distaste. He locked his eyes on Peter, to whom he sent a dark, disapproving glare- after all, what kind of men played with children?  
  
"Oh, loads," said Slightly darkly. "Care to play pirates?"  
  
"You can be Captain Hook," said Curly, raising his sword with a smirk.  
  
"He dies in the end, you know," said Peter, still scowling deeply. Caleb frowned, and was just about to retort Peter's words when there was a soft "ahem" at the parlor doorway.  
  
Standing there in a lavender satin gown that pooled at her ankles and caught the lights of the parlor in brilliant streaks was Wendy, her hair pulled up in delicate auburn curls and her frowning lips shiny with pink-red gloss. Caleb turned around, still holding the red roses, as his scowl faded.  
  
He smiled brilliantly at her.  
  
"Wendy, dearest," he purred, placing the roses into her white gloved arms. "You look beautiful."  
  
"Thank you," she said softly, taking the roses without expression. She looked up, then, just briefly, at Peter.  
  
Peter swallowed, holding back his incredible urge to run forward, to throw her roses out the window and hold her, gently, like glass. To comfort her and cure the wet gleam he saw in her eyes.  
  
"You do look beautiful," he found himself saying, though he could not smile. "Gorgeous, like a fairy queen."  
  
Wendy, though the sadness in her eyes did not change, smiled warmly at this, clutching the roses to her chest in an unconscious embrace that was not meant for the flowers.  
  
Caleb saw this, saw everything with great annoyance. He scowled, glaring darkly at Peter as he grabbed Wendy's arm.  
  
"Let's go then, dear," he said smoothly, still glaring at Peter. Finally, he turned away, pulling Wendy toward the door. She frowned, but obediently allowed herself to be pulled along, not able to look back even once more at Peter.  
  
"Good-bye, boys," she called hurriedly from the door, and then a loud click- and she was gone.  
  
Peter stood still, staring out at the air in front of him that still glittered warm with her presence.  
  
"I hope he steps in horse poo on the way there," mumbled Nibs angrily. "And then uses it to fix his bloody hair."  
  
The boys nodded in loyal agreement, wanting nothing more than this.  
  
Peter sighed, walking toward the parlor doorway he needed so much more than anger. The ache within him craved deeply, longed for so, so much more than he could give himself. A frown cursed his lips; Wendy was gone now, out on her date with Caleb. He had promised himself that he would leave at this point. It was time to go home.  
  
As if in a trance, he walked slowly out of the parlor and to the stairs, not feeling the eyes of the boys on his back as he quietly went. He walked, nearly gliding, up the tall polished staircase, and awakened only when he had reached the closed door of Wendy's bedroom.  
  
He opened it with a soft click, stepping inside. Everything was as it had been- clean, laced, and in its proper place. He sighed at he entered, closing the door and reaching down to untie and remove John's old shoes and black socks, discarding them next to the wardrobe. Wendy would find them there.  
  
He walked to the window, its panes glowing in the dimming twilight. With a gentle snap, he unlocked and opened it; wind rushed in, running wildly through his hair. He breathed in the fresh scent, breathed in the coldness as he stepped up, barefoot, onto the window ledge.  
  
He looked down into the street and caught sight of them, walking on the sidewalk near the street's end. Wendy's soft lavender dress was but a blur from the window, flickering as the light of the setting sun caught in its satin folds. Caleb still held her arm tightly, pulling her along, as he walked much faster than did she. The roses, apparently, had been abandoned on the sidetable near the stairs. He had not looked to see them when he had walked up.  
  
He stared at them as they walked, finally stopping under a streetlight to wait for a buggy as night fell. And then, it happened- slowly, the distant Caleb spun Wendy around, her dress still twirling about her as quickly, he leaned forward and caught her lips, her empty eyes still open.  
  
It was sadly too far for Peter to be able to see her devoid reaction, and, with a deep clenching of his heart that sent a ripple of pain through his chest, he knew it was time. There was no turning back now.  
  
He stepped one foot out into the cold open air, and then, quickly, another, jumping effortlessly toward the sky.  
  
He had no happy thoughts.  
  
He didn't yell or shout as he fell, merely opened his eyes in shock as the wind rushed past him vertically, his body still and frozen around him. He simply looked up- and there, twinkling as if in good-bye, was his star.  
  
Wendy felt a suddenly twinge as Caleb kissed her, a little stab of worry and alarm in her breast that spread in a second to an icy chill throughout her entire body. Without thinking at all, she pulled from him, tugging her arm free as she turned back toward the house.  
  
She was just in time to see Peter step out of the window, hover shakily for a second, and then, as if it had all been intended, begin his plummet to the cement below.  
  
Wendy screamed his name, running toward the house with waves of lavender around her legs and shimmering wings at her back. Caleb stood watching, shocked and somewhat appalled, as she ran from him, crying out Peter's name as tears fell from her eyes.  
  
"Peter!," Wendy screamed. "Peter, fly! Fly Peter!"  
  
Peter heard her, turned his head slightly toward her voice- but it was too late. His heart was as heavy as lead, and he had no thoughts of happiness or joy. Only love. Bitter, unrequited love.  
  
"Wendy," he whispered, sighing as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall through the air, seconds away from meeting the cold stone ground below.  
  
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End Chapter Eleven - Part Two  
  
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** Ending Notes**: The rest of Chapter Eleven ... uhm ... hmm, well, yes. Even I am not sure what will happen now. I, ahh, I don't know what else to say, other than thank you! You're all really great and supportive ... you motivate me to write ... really.  
  
**Beta readers: **If I can, I'll ship out Chapter Twelve to some of you ... uhm ... thank you so much! It's wonderful to have people I can ask for help, truly.  
  
I hope you return to read Chapter Twelve. ^_^ Thanks so much, loves!


	13. To Be Free

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: I LOVE EVERYONE*. You're all so great *hugs hugs*. I've gotten _so many_ wonderful reviews in the last couple days! Some I haven't even been able to delete out of sheer love of them, and so now my Hotmail inbox is something like this:  
  
New! bot@fanfiction.net  
bot@fanfiction.net  
bot@fanfiction.net  
bot@fanfiction.net X 100  
  
It's just crazy, I can't bear to part from them all. So anyway, excuse my _francais_, but I fucking love all of you. Yes, yes I do. Thank you so much!  
  
*who reads and/or reviews this story, which would probably be anyone reading this 3  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
**_This chapter is dedicated to _Kimberly_, who gets emotional Dove chocolate from me for posting a beautiful recommendation of CTL in the PanFan community on LJ. I almost died out of happiness. Thank you._**  
  
And now the story!  
  
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Fly Peter!, Wendy screamed, running as quickly as she was able back toward her home. She cried out when her heel violently snapped, flipping her shoe onto its side and then, a sharp crack. Regardless of everything, she ran numbly forward in a blur of shimmering lavender, screaming for him, her mind in agony.  
  
She was too late.  
  
She was just past the middle of the street she needed to cross when her screaming stopped, her voice choked by tears. She watched, her body shaking as she cried and ran, as Peter fell ... down from the window, then into the tangled branches of the oak tree ... and then to the hard, cold stone with a sickening thud.  
  
Wendy screamed then, a loud cry of pain that pierced the night air, and continued to run forward. She reached his limp body on the cement walk, kneeling down in front of him, her vision blurred from tears.  
  
His eyes were closed, his cheek pressed against the pavement, his body motionless as slowly, so slowly, Wendy watched in horror, a small puddle of blood expanded on the stone near his temple.  
  
she sobbed, reaching out and pressing her hands hard to his chest, looking desperately for a heartbeat, for breathing, for any sign of life. Peter, please, _please_ be ...  
  
His chest was warm but still; Wendy searched franticly for a heartbeat, finding nothing. Finally, she took his limp wrist into her hand, pressing her thumb to its underside.  
  
There, softly: a pulse.  
  
She cried out, relieved but overwhelming still terrified. Almost instinctively, she put a white gloved hand to his cheek and turned his face up toward the stars, gasping at the circular, raised gash on the side of his forehead that had struck the ground. She whimpered as blood began to drip down and over her hand.  
  
she mumbled again, Please Peter, wake up, wake up ...  
  
She pulled his bleeding head onto the lap of her dress, a puddle of lavender satin around her legs that still shown in the light of the streetlights. Mindlessly, she stroked his hair, crying. Tears fell from her cheeks to his, mixing with his blood ... she sobbed, praying with everything within herself that he would be all right again.  
  
Peter's lips moved as he gasped, then barely groaned from the pain.  
  
Wendy whispered, looking down at him. He groaned again as his eyes flickered open- at first, he saw only darkness, and then, as though she were a shadow ... the blurry, faded outline of an angelic woman.  
  
he mumbled. W-Wendy ..  
  
Yes, yes, she said soothingly in response. It's me. Peter, don't try to move ...  
  
he breathed, blinking as she went in and out of focus. And then, shimmering behind her like the sunset on the surface of the sea; there they were. Had she always been carrying them, hidden behind her?  
  
You ... wings, he murmured, reaching up a hand to touch them, but finding his arm much too weak.  
  
Wendy whispered, swallowing through her tight throat.  
  
You've got, he whispered, and he lifted his chin up toward them, blinking as blood dripped into his eyelashes, mrrm .. wings ..  
  
Wendy coaxed, not understanding. You're delusional, Peter, just rest, we're going to take you ...  
  
he said in a raspy voice. They're ... they're ... mrrr .. like a ... fairy ..  
  
Shh, shh, hush now, she continued softly. Don't talk, just rest, just rest ...  
  
So ... pretty, he whispered, and he tried again to reach up and touch them, shimmering gold in the air around her, quivering like a newborn butterfly ... but he hadn't the strength. His fingers shook with the effort, and he breathed out heavily as once again, exhausted, blackness overtook him.  
  
Wendy whispered as his eyes slipped closed. Peter? Peter, are you-  
  
He's fainted, said a dark voice behind her. Wendy jerked, startled. She turned back slowly to where Caleb was standing a few feet away, watching them with a blank expression.  
  
We need to take him to the hospital, Caleb, she said tensely, blinking away the tears in her eyes. He's ... he's hurt ...  
  
I can see that, Caleb said without emotion.  
  
Wendy pursed her lips, but said nothing. She wrapped her hands under his shoulders, heaving up his unconscious body as best she could, so that it rested against hers. The back of Peter's head rolled across Wendy's chest as it slumped to the side, staining the glowing lavender satin with blotchy stains of deep, wet red.  
  
Caleb watched with a severe frown as she tried her best to heave him up onto her completely, so that she might carry him. Her white glove was bloody too, the wet fabric clinging to her fingertips. He shivered, disgusted.  
  
I knew he wasn't right in the head, he said suddenly, still watching as Wendy continued to shift around Peter's weight. He probably thought he could fly.  
  
Wendy closed her eyes tightly at this as fresh tears rushed forward to fill the empty curve of her eyes' lower brim. She breathed out in relief as she finally shifted Peter so that he was laying horizontally across her legs. At last, she slid her arms under his knees and shoulders.  
  
She was just lifting him when Caleb stepped forward to stop her.  
  
Let me, he said stiffly. You'll never be able to lift him.  
  
Wendy knew it was true, and hesitantly, she pulled back her hands, watching as Caleb stepped forward, knelt down, and picked up Peter's limp body easily in his muscled arms. When Caleb stood back up, Wendy lifted herself to do so as well, her dirty satin gown shuffling.  
  
She cried out suddenly, whimpering in pain as she sunk back down to the cold ground.  
  
What is it?, Caleb asked, frowning deeply. Wendy, breathing heavily, grasped a handful of her dress and lifted it up, releasing the bottom part of her leg. The foot that had lost its shoe was bright red, inflamed and severely swollen. She winced as she tried to move her foot, crying out.   
  
Bloody hell, Caleb cursed, looking down at her broken ankle. Can you walk? Let's get you inside, out of the chill.  
  
He turned and headed into the house, still holding Peter like an oversized ragdoll. Wendy winced, whimpering as she dragged her swollen foot to the front steps and then up them, grateful when Caleb opened the door for her.  
  
They entered the front room in a blast of cold air that dispersed as soon as the front door clicked shut. In the parlor, Mr. and Mrs. Darling jumped slightly, looking up in surprise through the doorway. His newspaper rustled as it was rudely cast aside onto a sidetable, and her teacup, still steaming, fell with a sudden crash and shattered on the parlor floor.  
  
What's happened?, Mrs. Darling cried out, standing and running to where Caleb was holding Peter, his limp arms swinging uselessly in the air. Is he ...?  
  
He's hurt, Wendy choked lamely, tears filling her eyes. He ... he fell from the window. My ... my window.  
  
Dear God, her mother muttered, rushing over and immediately leaning over Peter, her eyes widening at the rivers of blood that had flowed down one side of his face. Oh, George! The poor boy!  
  
She turned away for a second toward her husband, unable to bear the sight. Mr. Darling, despite his dislike of Peter, rushed as fast as his wife into the front room, and now stood hovering just behind her shoulder, looking too at his bleeding gash with a deep frown.  
  
There now, he said quickly, lightly touching his wife's shoulder. I know there's a lot of blood, but the wound doesn't look too severe. I think he'll be all right ...  
  
George, what if there's a concussion?, Mrs. Darling asked fearfully, weeping. The poor child! What if he's lost his memory, or ... or his sense? Oh, the poor boy, in his prime, ohhh ...  
  
Wendy paled at this suggestion, clutching her hand into a fist as her body began to shake, the tears overflowing now.   
  
Please,' she prayed suddenly, casting her eyes toward the ceiling for a brief moment, Please let him be all right ...'  
  
Calm down dearest, calm down, Mr. Darling said reassuringly. We can't assume the worst at this point ...  
  
Should we take him to the hospital?, Wendy asked desperately, biting her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood.  
  
I think, Mr. Darling began slowly, looking down at Peter once again, That to take him so far, being jostled so much by the journey ... would only make it worse. Let's dress the wound ourselves, here ... and let the boy rest. He'll wake up in due time ...  
  
His voice trailed off, uncertain, but Mrs. Darling and Wendy seemed to accept this advice as solid, and immediately, the devoted mother of nine gathered herself up, swallowing back her tears in order to care for her latest, if not official, son.  
  
I'll fetch the bandages, she said firmly, and swept off.   
  
And I'll heat some water and fix a wet towel, Mr. Darling said bracingly, disappearing into the kitchen.  
  
Immediately, Wendy rushed forward to take her mother's place at Peter's side, leaning over his blank face and closed eyes. She watched his chest rise and fall shallowly, praying desperately for everything to turn out all right.  
  
A tear rolled down her cheek and hit his softly, falling across his skin in a clear trail of wet sadness. Wendy looked up at Caleb then, her eyes begging for reassurance, for comfort. He looked uncertainly back at her, frowning, knowing that he had to speak.  
  
What I don't understand, he said finally, adverting his eyes uncomfortably from those of Wendy, is why he would jump out of the window in the first place. I mean, did he honestly _believe_ that he could _fly_ like some kind of bird, some kind of ...  
  
Wendy whispered. Caleb scoffed at her, rolling his eyes slightly.  
  
Don't be ridiculous, he said airily. There are no such things as fairies.  
  
Wendy frowned deeply, both at the way he was speaking of Peter and because somewhere, deep in the Neverland forest or in some dark park shadow, a fairy had frozen and fallen, stone cold and hard as glass, to the ground. Dead.  
  
This thought alone made her wince, a loud whimper of regret that Caleb clearly heard. He thought, however, that it was a cry of pain- and remembered.  
  
Your ankle, precious, he said suddenly. Why didn't you say anything? Go and sit down in the parlor immediately, you should not be stand-  
  
Wendy said simply, unwilling to move from Peter's side, even if he could not feel her presence. I won't. My ankle isn't so bad ... it can wait. We need to take care of Peter now.  
  
She fully believed this, truly, but she had told one little lie: her ankle was much worse than isn't so bad. It was red and swollen, pulsing with burning pain. Even when Wendy was simply standing, she had to hold her foot up off the floor to fend off the agony that came with putting weight on it. She was ignoring the pain, the swelling ... she had much more important things on her mind.  
  
Things like Peter, who had not stirred since being sprawled outside on the chilled pavement. Wendy looked down at him now, fresh tears forming at the sight of the blood drying on his copper-toned skin, at the way his eyes were closed so gently, his lips parted ever so slightly ... it was as if he were asleep, innocent and dreaming ... like a child.  
  
I think the reason, Wendy whispered, reaching out to touch his forehead. She pushed back a few tangled golden brown curls from his face, their tips stained with red. That he left ... was ... he must have been trying to go home.  
  
Her heart clenched painfully at this, and she looked away from Peter's face, finding this thought unbearable. Why would he wish to leave her so suddenly ... and without even saying so much as a ? Had he meant to return in another five years, when she had a baby boy of her own? Or had he wanted never to see her again, disappointed at the way she had grown and changed?  
  
Well, that makes no sense, said Caleb, sighing under his breath. Though Peter was not an extremely heavy burden for him, he was dead weight, and over the last ten or fifteen minutes, his body had steadily grown heavier and heavier.  
  
Why did you want to leave us all, Peter?,' Wendy's thoughts whispered as she continued to push back his hair, stroking his forehead gently, soothingly, Leave _me_ ... again?'  
  
She sighed sadly, and at that moment, Mrs. Darling rushed back into the room, followed shortly by her husband.  
  
Take him into the parlor and lay him down on the sofa, she directly immediately, and obediently, Caleb, with Wendy at his burden's side, entered the parlor and laid down Peter's limp body on the scarlet couch.  
  
Using the warm wet cloth her husband had fixed, Mrs. Darling gently cleaned the blood from Peter's face and abrasion, which had mostly clotted. She then immediately wrapped white gauze around his head, through his forehead and tangled hair.  
  
Mrs. Darling said, finishing. That's all we can do for now. George, should we let him rest in the parlor tonight?  
  
Wendy said suddenly, before Mr. Darling could speak a word of advice. When the boys find out, they'll rush in here ... there's no privacy at all. He can sleep in my bed.  
  
_Your_ bed?, Mr. Darling questioned uneasily, frowning. The idea of any young man sleeping in her daughter's bed, even alone, deeply disturbed him. And where will _you_ be sleeping, then?  
  
said Wendy simply, gesturing toward the sofa on which Peter was laying.  
  
Perhaps that's best, said Mrs. Darling, glancing at her husband. In her eyes was a gentle, but firm, order.  
  
Mr. Darling saw this little command and surrendered, sighing quietly.  
  
All right then, he resigned. Caleb ... might you?  
  
No problem at all, he said grudgingly, frowning but managing to cover his distaste admirably well. He leaned down and once again took Peter's limp body into his arms, turning toward Wendy. She nodded once, expressionless, and limped out of the parlor, cringing as she walked up the stairs step by step, clutching the railing for support. Caleb followed slowly behind her, not worried in the least when Peter's head rolled back and hit the railing as it ended at the top of the stairs.  
  
Finally, they reached her bedroom. Wendy opened the door for Caleb, limping inside. As quickly as she could, she hobbled over to the bed, beating the pillow with the palm of her hand and pulling down the sheets. When she had finished, she turned back toward Caleb, who had been standing near her dresser, watching her. She nodded.  
  
Caleb stepped forward as Wendy stepped aside, slipping Peter's body clumsily into the bed. He stepped back immediately, not wanting to be near to him, and frowned when Wendy stepped forward once again, pulling the sheets and blankets tightly around his body, up to his tanned shoulders. When she had finished, she paused, her hands still brushing the sheets that covered his body, and stared down at him sadly, her blue eyes glistening wet with tears.  
  
Caleb looked also at Peter's face, and then it came to him. He knew exactly what to say.  
  
Look at him, Wendy, he said reflectively, leaning forward to appear as though he was deeply interested in Peter's features. He looks so peaceful ... doesn't he?  
  
said Wendy softly. I suppose he does.  
  
He's very lucky, Caleb said slowly, smiling a bit to himself.  
  
Wendy frowned, disturbed. She turned around to face Caleb, her eyes still wide with tears.  
  
Caleb, he's hurt, she reprimanded in a shaking voice. He's unconscious!  
  
I don't mean that he's lucky to be hurt, Caleb said deliberately, still looking at Peter. He's lucky because ... he has no burdens. He isn't like us, Wendy. He never needs to think about money, finances ... holding a job ...  
  
Wendy frowned as she looked down at Peter as well, her eyes darkening with sadness.  
  
He will never have to worry about supporting a wife, or a family, Caleb said slyly. He'll likely never have children ... and of course ... well. Surely he'll never find a wife, he doesn't seem capable of so deep a love, let alone the _commitment_ involved ...  
  
Wendy stared down blankly as a tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
No, I think he's rather lucky to be so free of responsibility, Caleb continued, as though he were oblivious to Wendy's silence and tears. He'll never be burdened by our world, or ... _emotion_. He's a child at heart ... don't you think?  
  
Wendy let out a tiny sob, unable to hold it back.  
  
Caleb questioned innocently. Are you ... quite all right? Is it your ankle again?  
  
I'm fine, Wendy whispered sadly.  
  
I'll let you rest, Caleb said softly. Come now, let me help you down the stairs-  
  
I can manage, she whispered shakily. Just ... I'll be down in a moment. Go ahead without me, I'll ... I'll wish you goodnight at the door.  
  
Caleb saw the tear that fell down her cheek then, and internally, he smiled. His little speech had worked well ... he was glad that he had followed them the night they'd all gone out after his departure. He'd had an opportunity to search for a flaw in his character. He hadn't expected to find one, however, that could affect her so severely ...  
  
Of course, dear, he said slowly, and with a soft click, he disappeared through the bedroom door like a shadow, closing it behind him.  
  
As soon as the door clicked shut, Wendy let out a shaking, repressed sob.  
  
Everything that Caleb had somehow known and said was true of Peter, every word. She had treasured his memory for so long that she knew every expression of his character by heart, even the parts of him that had tortured her. She remembered the harsh, cold whisper in her ear that swore he would never love, had never loved. It was true that he had never had to face the dark world of reality as a man- it was all true. Peter was a boy at heart, if no longer a boy in body.  
  
And yet, Wendy's heart whispered as she found herself limping once again toward his bedside, toward his sleeping and bandaged face ... there had been moments when she had believed otherwise. By moments, she meant brief flashes of understanding, of impossible communication between them.   
  
There had been times when he had turned to her, looked at her, and for just a moment, something shifted in his emerald eyes. It was a drastic, swift change, like floating down a familiar river only to fall suddenly down a waterfall that was not supposed to be there, and then continue, as if there had been no drop at all, down the same familiar path.  
  
The flashing waterfall in his eyes was something much deeper than childish friendship, something that stirred in her a feeling more dangerous and passionate then she had ever felt from looking into the eyes of anyone else. For just a few brief moments, she had thought she had seen something so much more in those eyes. She'd thought she'd glimpsed ... love.  
  
But Wendy, who had lived the last five years alone and in sadness, knew herself far too well to believe in these few strange experiences. She knew that she saw love in his eyes like she had seen his shadow at the window countless times in the years before, seen longing mixed in emerald like she'd heard his crow twisted in with the call of the wind. She knew she'd created it all in her mind. There was nothing to believe in.  
  
She reached her hand out toward him, trailing her fingertips lightly down the side of his face that had been soaked in blood not an hour before. She looked down at herself, cautiously- there, stained across the breast of her lavender gown, was blood, his blood. She overturned her still-gloved hand, staring at its palm- there too were blotches of dark red.  
  
He had stained her gown and glove just as he'd stained her heart five years ago ... with the essence of himself. And, just as the blood was sourced from a wound ... the mark he'd left on her had grown to represent pain.  
  
And yet ...  
  
Despite the fact that his forgetting had hurt her, he still looked so beautiful. She knew that, looking down on his almost angelic, handsome face, peaceful in sleep ... she knew that he had not meant to scar her so deeply.  
  
She brushed her gloved hand back against his face, sighing. Despite everything, when she looked at him now ... she could feel no pain. Being with him, near him, wiped clean the black slate of her heart, painting it instead with twisting, blending patterns of brilliant color that made no sense. He'd hurt her, but looking at him now ... all she could feel for him was warmth.  
  
She breathed in deeply; it was a warmth that spread from her heart through her entire body, awakening it, awakening her very soul. It wound through the deepest parts of her, invoking the most profound feeling she had ever felt. He made her feel like she was ... no longer hollow, but rather ... fulfilled.  
  
She leaned down over him, the careful curls that had once been pinned precariously to the back of her head down pooling over his gently heaving chest.  
  
As gently as she could, so as not to wake him, she pressed her lips to his warm cheek, the one now a copper pink and free of blood. She had long forgiven him for the past, for the forgetting, for the pain of the past five years ... but that, in itself, could not erase it all.  
  
Nor could forgiveness relieve her of the pain she felt now, in the present. Her warm breathing brushing his cheek as she cried, tears dripping onto his neck, onto the soft blankets pulled carefully around him. It could not free her of the prison she was living in.  
  
No ...  
  
The only thing that could hope to free her was love, and she knew that, regardless of the way she felt when she was near to him ... he did not love her. Never had he loved her.  
  
She drew away from him quickly as this thought drifted through her head. She swallowed hard; she must not think of it. She had to be strong.  
  
Wiping the tears from her eyes with her bloody glove, she turned toward the bedroom door, limping to it and opening it quietly. There stood Caleb, smiling and waiting to help her down the stairs.  
  
She blinked her bloodshot eyes, resisting the urge to run from him and back into her bedroom, where Peter lay unknowing. She had a new future now ... a new pain to occupy her. She had to let go of the past in order to embrace her future.  
  
It was all for the best.  
  
She winced as she walked toward Caleb, her ankle throbbing. Yes, exactly, her mind taunted bitterly.  
  
Silence, she had been taught, was always best.  
  
  
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End Chapter Twelve  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Ahh, well, yes. I think we _all_ need some nice chocolate after reading that. *passes out little Dove chocolates* This is pretty much a depressing chapter ... but ... I like it. I think the last two pages or so really revealing how Wendy has been and is feeling, whereas the last few chapters have been focusing on Peter. The next chapter will be a bit more lighthearted. I swear. ^^ It has some hints of, err, well ... Peter _is_ growing up, so, you know ...  
  
Please come back for Chapter Thirteen. ^^ I love you all! *huggle*


	14. Virgin Instinct

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Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: I'm a bit crabby. My Internet service sucks so much. I'm going to work to have it changed. Blargh. I don't think I could write well now even if I strived too. Good thing the chapter is already finished, ehh? All I have to do is proofread it. ^^;;  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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He slowly opened his eyes, holding them open only halfway as he continued to pant lightly, exhausted. He made a strange noise of contentment, something between a sigh and a whimper, as he stared up at the dark ceiling. He could not bear to move an inch, to ruin the feeling; his body was completely relaxed, every worry drained out of him so that all he could feel in his body and beating heart was calm, uninterrupted bliss.  
  
The hand on his chest moved then, sliding slowly up his neck and to his cheek, turning his face toward its owner. He smiled warmly at what he saw, his mind in awe of her beauty. She lay there next to him, her blue eyes deep with love and satisfaction, the smile curving her lips so full and perfect that his heart nearly stopped. Her auburn hair fell wild around her bare shoulders and chest, some of it spilling onto his. She was lying on her side, her head resting in the curve of his shoulder.  
  
she sighed, still staring at him happily. He reached out, stroking her hair back so that he could better see her beautiful face; she turned her head toward his hand, rubbing her cheek into his palm as her smile widened. Nothing could have been more perfect.  
  
You're trembling, he whispered, and she was; a gentle tremor was running through her body, shaking even her fingertips with its vibration. She smiled still, and he saw that under the smile, she too was panting.  
  
Don't worry, she laughed quietly. I'll be all right.  
  
That was, he whispered softly, looking into her eyes as he continued to breath heavily, his voice reflecting the tiredness of his body, It was ... amazing ...  
  
She smiled at this, quietly moaning her agreement.  
  
He smiled and began stroking her hair once again, and with a little sigh, she rolled her head back onto his shoulder, pressing her bare body against his, her thighs touching his own, their ankles nearly overlapping. Her chest was pressed up against his arm; he could feel her breathing slowly in and out. He loved her.  
  
I'm in love with you, he whispered suddenly, and she smiled into his shoulder as warm tears swelled from her heart to her eyes, overpowering her.   
  
She said nothing, but raised her head and pressed her moist lips firmly but gently onto his shoulder, raising her body over him slowly as she kissed up the curve of his shoulder, then up his neck he gasped at this, closing his eyes for a second then past his jaw, and finally, she reached his ear.  
  
I love you too, she whispered, then drew back her head and looked down at him affectionately. She smiled at his deep emerald eyes and disheveled hair, his body shining golden with sweat, his bare chest that rose and fell under her as he stared back.   
  
Sighing softly, she leaned down and pressed her lips sweetly to his.  
  
Immediately, he raised his chin and kissed her back, returning her kiss with equal passion. He embraced her warm lips with his only to have her pull away, gasping for breath, and then immediately lean down for another kiss.   
  
He heard a begging noise come from his throat, and he raised his hands, placing them on her curved, bare waist, pulling her down further. He kissed her, and she kissed him, and it could not end   
  
she gasped in a whisper between kisses. He felt his hands slide up her warm back, tangling into her hair   
  
_ohh_, Peter!  
  
Peter!  
  
Peter! Wake up!  
  
His eyes opened suddenly, and immediately the light above blinded him, stinging his eyes. He winced, shutting his eyes tightly, and as he did so he felt the warm hand on his shoulder pull away ... was it _her_ voice that had awakened him?  
  
Cautiously, he allowed one eye to slide open slowly. He saw a blurred, too bright outline of a figure, and then, as he allowed his other eye to open as well, she came into focus, her worried face pale and tense.  
  
Are you all right?, Wendy questioned hesitantly. You ... you were moaning in your sleep ... had you been having a nightmare?  
  
Peter thought about this, frowning ... there was a dream close to the edge of his mind, he could still feel it lingering there, rejected and fading...  
  
He searched for and found it, snatching at it with its mind eye before it disappeared completely into the forgotten. Immediately, images began to wash over him ... beautiful, intense images with so much ... touch and ... heat ...  
  
He felt hot blood rush into his cheeks, and he looked immediately past Wendy's face and toward the door, unable to look into her eyes. Why had he dreamt of her like ... like that ... with him? What could that possibly ... mean?  
  
He whimpered, not understanding.  
  
Wendy saw his burning cheeks and heard his whimper, taking it to be one of pain or nausea. She frowned deeply, the worry in her breast tightening.  
  
You're flushed, she said tensely, and tentatively, she reached out her hand and pressed it gently, so very gently, to his forehead.  
  
Peter winced as a stab of pain pierced his temple, and for the first time he felt the cloth bandages wrapped tight around his head. He groaned quietly; he was hurt? When had he been hurt? He couldn't seem to remember ... the only thing he could think of was the sudden pain and then, overwhelming even that, the dream ... that strange, warm dream ...  
  
I'm sorry, Wendy whispered when he winced, pulling her hand away. You're ... you're burning up ... oh, and look at you! You're sweating!  
  
And he was; the sweat shone over his entire body, dampening the bedsheets and blankets that were tangled around his legs. He'd woken up with it, and the burning his cheeks only seemed to make it much, much worse.  
  
I'm, ahh, said Peter. All right ... I think ...  
  
I think you have a fever, Wendy said persistently, frowning deeply. She was trembling slightly, worried ... she had been so relieved when he had finally moved ... she'd thought he was awakening.   
  
But then he began to moan quietly and toss and turn, sweating, and she knew that he was having one of his terrible nightmares again. She hadn't been able to watch, wanting to comfort him so badly that she finally shook his shoulders to awaken him, calling his name.   
  
He'd awoken sweating and flushed ... surely he had caught a chill the night before, outside on the cold stone ...  
  
I'll fetch Mother, she said shakily, worried that his illness might be more than a cold. She'll know what to do ... I ... I'll be back soon. She turned to leave, her skirt rustling around her legs.  
  
No, Wendy, Peter gasped, sitting up as quickly as he could in bed. He winced as his head suddenly began to spin from the sudden movement, pressing his hand to his tremble until the pain subsided. Wendy had meanwhile turned around, and was now looking at him uncertainly.  
  
What is it?, she asked slowly, Do you need something else? Does anything else hurt?  
  
What happened?, he asked quietly, his hand still tangled in his sweaty hair. How did I get this ... this hurt?  
  
Wendy frowned, and for a moment she stood frozen, motionless as she stared at him sadly. She snapped out of it before she could give herself away, however, and walked to his bedside slowly.  
  
You fell from my window, she whispered in a strained voice.  
  
I ... fell?, he asked, confused ... but just as the words slipped from his lips, the memory of it all came flooding back to him. He had planned to go back to Neverland, had waited until Wendy had gone ... he had stepped up to the open window ... and through it, Caleb and Wendy ... kissing on the street ... his heart filling with lead ... falling ... falling ... a distant voice screaming ... branches ... pain ... darkness.  
  
He frowned, closing his eyes in shame. He winced, not so much from his gash now, and again clutched a hand to his head, hiding his face.  
  
Wendy questioned softly, Why did you want to go? Without saying so much as a good-bye to ... to everyone ...  
  
he stuttered softly. He knew the reason, but he couldn't bear to tell her to her face why he had known that it was his time to leave. I ... I had to ... I thought ...  
  
Did you think, she whispered, her lips trembling. That I ... that I wanted ...  
  
And just at that moment, the door slammed open. Wendy jumped slightly, startled, and spun around as seven boys flooded the room, all talking excitedly at Peter, relieved that he had woken up. She stood among the chattering crowd and sighed softly to herself; it didn't matter now what was said, in any case. Her destiny was set.  
  
Then, suddenly, she remembered. He was feverish ...   
  
I'm going to fetch Mother, she said hurriedly, rushing out of the room; the boys, less Peter, did not hear her, much too interested in their newest and most dear brother.  
  
Are you feeling all right, Peter?, Nibs asked, one of the first to rush into the room and thus one of the first to crowd around his bedside.   
  
said Slightly with a frown. That's a nasty brut of a gash, isn't it, Tootles?  
  
Right nasty, Tootles agreed, nodding. We heard how you fell from the window ... why did you fall, Peter?  
  
You can't have forgotten how to fly already, frowned Michael. After all, you're ... you're Peter!  
  
I didn't forget, Peter said quietly, finally getting a chance to speak. I just ... couldn't.  
  
Curly questioned. What do you mean, couldn't?  
  
Peter began shakily, I just ... lost all my ... happy thoughts.  
  
The boys gasped, frowning at this ... they knew that there was only one thing that could sink the proud, joyous Peter Pan. A sort of quietness fell over them for a second, because they all knew but couldn't say they knew- but quickly, it passed.  
  
Like with Hook ... right?, Slightly asked cautiously.  
  
Peter said, sighing. Exactly like that.  
  
Again, silence fell over the boys. Just as Hook's words had nearly cost Peter his life years before, his unhappy thought had to be causing him pain. They could not say anything to comfort him, their lips barred by the fact of Caleb ... they shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between one another.  
  
said Nibs, breaking the uneasy silence. Peter, you're ... all red.  
  
Peter questioned, and if he had not been he was now ... he remembered that he had been blushing, and as he did he also recalled why ... in vivid, heated detail ...  
  
His cheeks began to burn again, and he looked away from the boys, embarrassed.  
  
I ... I had this really strange dream, he admitted, knowing that he couldn't possibly explain to the boys what he had dreamt. They wouldn't understand any better than him, surely, that and ... and it was such an ... an uncomfortable thing to dream of, so strange that he couldn't even place a word on it.  
  
asked Slightly, interested. What of?  
  
said Nibs suddenly, his eyebrows raising.  
  
asked Slightly, irritated that Peter's reply had been so rudely interrupted, although he had not yet begun to answer.  
  
Oh, you know, said Nibs, looking up toward the ceiling tensely.   
  
Slightly punched his arm, frowning. Liar! Tell me.  
  
Tell us!, chimed the twins, and a moment later, the other boys too began to beg, whining for Nibs to reveal his secret information. Peter, who had little interest either way, simply continued to advert his eyes to random parts of the bedroom, willing his burning blush away.  
  
Nibs shifted his weight uncomfortably, then began jerking his head to the side, toward Peter. The boys' heads turned simultaneously in his direction, Peter still oblivious and distracted. They frowned, confused, for they saw nothing unusual about him.  
  
Nibs continued to jerk his head violently up and down, and the boys frowned, raising their eyebrows at him as though he were deranged. Finally, Nibs gave up and sighed.  
  
Look down, you idiots, he hissed between his teeth, and immediately, the boys looked from Peter's blank, turned-away face and down.  
  
Six pairs of eyes widened, eyebrows raising. They looked around at each other silently, unsure of what to say to this.  
  
said Nibs finally, clearing his throat. Peter was snapped from his thoughts, turning finally to the boys, though his eyes were still lost.  
  
Nice dream you must've had, said Slightly with a raised brow. The other boys surrounding him now began to half-smirk, half-gawk immaturely.  
  
said Peter, lying. It had been ... a wonderful dream ... but it had also been so horribly strange and ... and ...  
  
It was confusing, he admitted at last. And ... and strange.  
  
You're lucky Wendy was too busy worrying over you to notice that, said Curly slyly.  
  
Notice what?, Peter asked quietly, furrowing his brow in confusion.  
  
Ehrm, Peter, said Tootles hesitantly. Take a look ... down ... at yourself.  
  
Peter blinked, confused, but did as he was advised, lowering his eyes down to his lap. He cringed, his eyes widening as he stared.  
  
he stuttered. Ehrm, err ... what ...  
  
Mm'hm, exactly, said Nibs, rolling his eyes to look around the rest of the room.  
  
I ... I don't, he whimpered, confused and suddenly feeling very warm, his blood boiling like water, his muscle tense. Hesitantly, he raised the blanket up a little for a better view.  
  
Is it broken?, he whimpered, a bead of sweat running down his face.  
  
Ahh ... no, said Slightly, eyes wide, incredulous. The other six boys continued to stare at Peter, half not believing what they were hearing and seeing, half amazed at Peter's lack of knowing- after all, he looked so much older than them now.  
  
What's wrong with it then?, Peter asked desperately.  
  
Err ... nothing, said Nibs, who was exchanging dumbfounded looks with Slightly. Neither boy knew what to say, and certainly none of the other boys, who continued to stare at Peter with slightly frightened expressions, knew either.  
  
But then, just as they were staring slack-jawed at Peter, the door swung politely openly. There, dressed and hair smoothed down, was John.  
  
I just came to see if you were all- ehrm, he said, starting first in a vaguely worried voice and ending in a perturbed one. Immediately Peter threw the blanket back over his lap, hiding the situation at hand within his black pants. It was a pointless effort.  
  
I did not see that, said John simply, turning around completely and heading out the door.  
  
John, wait a second!, yelped Nibs. John froze and, mumbling to himself, turned slowly back around.  
  
What exactly are you all discussing?, he asked hesitantly, as though he knew it was against his better judgment to ask at all.  
  
A dream that Peter had, said Curly simply.  
  
I see, said John, raising a eyebrow. Well ... I'll be leaving now.  
  
You can't go anywhere!, cried Slightly, running around and blocking the exit of the bedroom door. You have to help first!  
  
I really have nothing to contribute to this discussion, John said, blushing slightly. And in any case, you shouldn't be having it anyway! What if Mother walked by? Or Father? You'd all be in for it, you know you would!  
  
Soap in our mouths for ten whole minutes, I expect, said Tootles solemnly.  
  
snapped John. And with Peter feverish and weak.  
  
I'm not weak!, Peter retorted resentfully, sitting up to his full height.  
  
You're feverish?, asked Curly suddenly. I didn't know you were sick.  
  
I don't think I am, said Peter thoughtfully. I just feel hot.  
  
I told you to end this already!, John scolded, his blush deepening. Keep these things ... these things ... to yourselves!  
  
They're my brothers, said Peter angrily. I'd tell them anything.  
  
said John, not so much angered as embarrassed by all this. I'll just go then.  
  
Nibs yelped again. You have to stay! Explain to Peter what ... what stuff is!  
  
John questioned warily.  
  
He doesn't understand, Nibs whispered, jerking his head toward Peter.  
  
Understand what exactly?, John frowned, wanting terribly to break down the door and run for it.  
  
You _know,_ Slightly insisted. The _talk.  
  
_What talk?, asked John, raising his eyebrow irritably.  
  
Come on, you know what talk!, Nibs whined. The ... the talk with Father! About ... you ... you _know!  
  
_I don't know what you're- ohh, said John, understanding mid-sentence. His face was immediately flooded with red.   
  
Explain to him, Slightly insisted. He ... he thinks something's wrong with him! We can't have him thinking that!  
  
That's true, I s-suppose, said John, growing increasingly uncomfortable.  
  
So you'll do it?, Nibs asked hopefully.  
  
Let me ponder that one for a second, said John sarcastically. Hmm ... ahh ... let's see ... no.  
  
Slightly said scornfully. Just do it! You know we can't!  
  
And why can't you?, said John resentfully. I thought Father had the ... the _talk _with you two already! Said you were so audacious that he thought he ought to do it before you two made fools of yourselves!  
  
said Slightly, frowning. Well, that's true. He sent a wayward glance toward Nibs, who shrugged.  
  
You still have to do it, he said as if it were a well known fact.  
  
John said tensely. You two should know! Explain it to him! I refuse to involve myself in this ... this ... discussion!  
  
More of a lesson, really, said Nibs thoughtfully. And anyway, we can't because Father's talk made no bloody sense. The entire thing was a ... ehrm ... Slightly, what was that word we learned in class?  
  
What word?, asked Slightly, his forehead creasing in confusion.  
  
The one that means talking about something while you're talking about something else in a more plain way, Nibs said, thinking. Hmm ... metamorph?  
  
John corrected, frowning. And he ... oh, yeah, right.   
  
I'll never be able to help Mother pull up her onions again, said Nibs mournfully. Slightly shook his head sadly in agreement.  
  
Would you all stop talking about it and tell me what it is already?!, Peter demanded in an irritated voice.  
  
All eyes turned to Peter, wide and hesitant.  
  
said Nibs. Right then. John?  
  
said John, staring at Peter icily. Unintimidated as always, he glared back, annoyed with the entire situation. He hated to be kept waiting.  
  
asked Peter, raising his eyebrow. I'd .. I'd really like to know what's wrong with me now. He cringed, knowing that it probably had something to do with growing up and older, and hoping that it wasn't something bad. He didn't want to worry Wendy more than he already had ...  
  
Clear out, boys, said John slowly. I'd like to talk with Peter ... alone.  
  
He stood firmly in his place as the boys cautiously left the room, sending Peter reassuring glances as they went. Peter himself frowned apprehensively; John's frown was a severe one, his usually relaxed and aloof face now tense and focused completely on him.  
  
The bedroom door finally closed with a loud click.  
  
I have something to ask you, John said in a rigid voice.  
  
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End Chapter Thirteen  
  
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** Ending Notes**: I thought that a break was needed from the depressing-ness, so I wrote this. It does lead into important events that actually move the plot along, though, and it's important to me that Peter's sexual side gets some recognition and development. I hope that you found it amusing ... maybe I'm only good with angst, I don't know. ^^;; Oh, and ... I hope everyone who wanted some Peter and Wendy sugar enjoyed the opening dream scene.  
  
Much, much love! Please come back for Chapter Fourteen! ^_^  
  
P.S: If you want to contribute your opinion on the sexuality within CTL, please take the poll located at , the (future) site of this story. Danke danke!


	15. It's Really Quite Natural

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Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Oy, what a weekend. Busy, boring, euphoric, incredibly depressing ... yeah. Well, I hope that everyone likes this chapter. The entire thing is a dialogue between Peter and John (snickers). They foil each other pretty well, which is why I picked John for this role. Do enjoy and loves ... take care.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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I have something to ask you, John said in a rigid voice.  
  
Then ask it, Peter replied in an irritated one, vexed that the boys had all been driven away so quickly and easily. He cursed John in his head, hoping that he at least had some kind of good reason for removing all good company from the room.  
  
But then, in the middle of this mild bitterness, he remembered ... John was the only one of the boys who was capable of explaining the reason behind his strange ... problem. He straightened his spine up a bit, still sitting upright in bed, resolving to pay close attention.  
  
stuttered John, as Peter continued to stare at him, waiting. His cheeks began to flush scarlet once again, but his lips remained in a firm line- he was, despite the embarrassing qualities of his question, still very serious about it.  
  
pushed Peter impatiently.  
  
Are you sexually attracted to my sister?, John suddenly spat out loudly, his voice shaky but strong. Peter's eyes widened slightly at this unexpected rise in volume, a bit shocked at his voice- usually aloof and distant, it was now demanding and in his face ... albeit being a bit nervous.  
  
What's sexually attracted'?, he asked with an expression that was both confused and agitated. Come on, John, he muttered in his thoughts. Get to the point already ...  
  
John stuttered, his blush deepening. You ... really don't know?  
  
said Peter bitterly. He disliked it when anyone pointed out his ignorance.  
  
How can you not know and yet get an ... an err, said John shakily. Err ... nothing. Let me ... let me put it this way.  
  
Peter simply raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting.  
  
Who ... who was in your dream?, John asked. He frowned after he said this, his eyes serious and intent on Peter's reaction, his expression.  
  
Peter's eyes widened in surprise, and he cringed as a tsunami of red rushed into his cheeks. He flinched, twitching before shifting his weight uncomfortably in the bed. Finally, after several moments of moving, blushing silence, he spoke.  
  
I, uhh, he said, quite defiantly, Don't ... don't remember! Yes! I don't remember.  
  
suggested John dryly. He frowned, not wanting to play games; Peter's reaction had already confirmed his every suspicion.  
  
choked Peter, annoyed that John hadn't taken the bait. He frowned, searching his mind for a clever lie. Err ... uhm ... oh yes. I ... remember now.  
  
Do you?, John asked carefully.   
  
It was only me, Peter said, filling his voice with shaky confidence. It was ... me ... doing ... well, I don't remember that part, but it was just me. I'm sure of that.  
  
said John in an exasperated voice. So let me just recap here ... in your dream, you were having sex with ... just yourself.  
  
said Peter, relaxing. Finally, John was starting believe him ... maybe now he'd back off about the actual dream and move on to the much more important act of explaining. Yes ... just me, I was having ... wait ...  
  
He frowned, his voice trailing off weakly.  
  
he added meekly, his lie falling apart. What's a   
  
John groaned, pressing his forehead into the palm of his hand.  
  
That's what I'm _trying _to explain to you, he said in an irritated, tired voice. It would go a lot easier if you would just be _honest_ with me ...  
  
Peter frowned at this, weighing his options. On one hand, his dream with Wendy, albeit strange, was beautiful ... beautiful in a way beyond her eyes and smile and waves of auburn hair ... and the closeness within it, the way that he and Wendy had been so ... together, so unseperated ... seemed precious. He wanted to protect it, lock it away forever and never share it with anyone. Especially practical, easily flustered John.  
  
On the other hand, he completely failed to understand the dream, other than the elements of beauty and closeness that needed no explaining, as in feeling them he'd understood them. He was itching with both childish curiosity and worry (after all, he'd somehow ended up broken for awhile) ... he needed to know, and John could explain. He could tell him about everything ... but apparently only if he revealed his secret dream.  
  
said Peter, still unsure. There ... _may_ have been _one_ other person ...  
  
You don't say, said John sarcastically, relieved to finally be dragging him out of his shell. And was this person ... female?  
  
No, she wasn't, said Peter in an agitated, shocked voice, his eyes wide. How did he _know_ that?  
  
Close enough, said John, sighing. And ... what did she look like?  
  
Peter frowned, his mind still grumbling about how John could have possibly known that he had shared his dream with a girl. He would play along, he decided hesitantly ... but he wouldn't say anything that would give her identity away.  
  
She has eyes like the sky on a day when the sun is out, he began slowly. And ... and her hair is long, and it comes in waves so that it flows when she walks, and ... her skin is pale like the full moon and ... ahh ... she was smiling.  
  
John raised an eyebrow at this; Peter had obviously thought of these comparisons before. They were simple, yes ... but beautiful for that reason.  
  
And do you remember, John began slowly, blushing at his own question (how could he talk of his own sister in this fashion?). What this girl was ... _wearing_?  
  
repeated Peter shakily. He blushed deeply, remembering very well what exactly they'd been wearing. Nothing. Nothing at all ... not so much as a leaf or a nightgown.  
  
He remembered for two reasons, really: one was that the lack of clothes was one of the main reasons the dream was so strange to him, and the second ... no clothes meant he'd been able to feel Wendy's skin, the softest skin that hadn't been battered by too much touch and sun ... he could remember exactly what it felt like, if he thought hard on it ...  
  
His hands wrapped around her back, holding her tightly to his chest ... his palms pressed on her warm skin, skin that was firm but velvet soft, wet with a sheen of sweat ... the curve of her smooth waist, his hands gently placed there at first, then moving up ... her voice moaning into his ear ...  
  
... ahh, oh ... _ohh_, Peter!  
  
... oh, Peter!  
  
... hey, Peter! Peter!  
  
A hand was suddenly waving wildly in his face, and John's voice was hissing in his ear. Peter jumped and winced, his heart beating wildly at the surprise.  
  
Snap out of it, said John irritably. And answer my question ... _what was she wearing_?  
  
I, uhm, choked Peter, his blood boiling, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. I ... I don't remember! I don't!  
  
You are a _miserable_ liar, seethed John, narrowing his eyes.  
  
How would you know?, Peter snapped, his cheeks rose red. It wasn't _your _dream!  
  
I know because the ... t-the proof is right in front of my eyes!, John yelped angrily. He pointed a shaking finger at the bulge just under the blankets over Peter's lap, his cheeks also a burning crimson.  
  
Peter saw the pointing finger and immediately looked down, wincing loudly at what he saw.  
  
Not again, he yelped in a worried voice. It's ... it's ... ehrm, ahh ... _why?_  
  
I'll tell you why!, John cried madly. Because she wasn't wearing _anything_ was she? Was she?!  
  
I don't know!, Peter yelped, much more focused on his impending doom. Ahh ... John, make it go away! Please! Just ... just tell me how!  
  
It wouldn't be there if hadn't thought of your dream for so long, said John tensely, completely ignoring Peter's panic. The dream in which there was a _naked girl_. Just admit it ... admit that's what it was!  
  
Peter whined loudly. Fine, fine ... she ... she had no clothes on! Are you happy now?! It's true! She wasn't wearing _anything_!  
  
Now, was that so hard?, John said tensely, grating his fingers into his scalp.  
  
Peter whimpered, tears about to overflow from his frightened eyes. I just want to make it go away, it makes me feel ... feel ... helpless and ... and _crazy_! Tell me how to make it go away!  
  
John frowned at this, shocked that Peter was genuinely anxious.  
  
You don't need to look so ... afraid, he said slowly. It's ... perfectly normal, ahh ... really quite ... natural. It'll go away if you don't think about sex for awhile.  
  
What's _sex_?, Peter cried desperately.  
  
said John nervously. I've ... I've been trying to explain that to you for ten minutes now.  
  
You have not, you've just made me tell you what was in my dream, Peter mumbled indignantly, stilling staring down at himself. Do you think if I push it down, it'll go away faster?  
  
John yelped. Just ... just stop looking at it!  
  
Immediately Peter shot his eyes up toward the ceiling, a tear slipping from the corner of one as he whimpered.  
  
John muttered, half pitying Peter and half amused by his reaction. Don't worry so much. You'll, ahh ... get used to this after awhile.  
  
Meekly, Peter lowered his chin and turned toward John, frowning.  
  
You think so?, he questioned weakly. John nodded firmly, adverting his eyes around the room as he did so.  
  
I guess it's not so bad, Peter commented uneasily. It ... it doesn't hurt or anything.  
  
It shouldn't hurt, John said, chuckling for the first time- Peter's expression of wonderment was priceless. In fact ... it'll, uhm ... err ... no, I shouldn't be telling you that just yet, you haven't even grasped-  
  
Peter interjected suddenly. No! Tell me! You have to tell me, I want ... I want to understand!  
  
John frowned at this, but carefully, he said what he'd been hesitant to say.  
  
he said in a very nervous voice, Err ... that is ... this ... this will ... _eventually_ bring you ... pleasure.  
  
Peter questioned uncertainly.  
  
Yes pleasure, John mumbled, frowning and blushing with embarrassment.  
  
You mean it'll make me happy?, Peter asked unsurely, frowning as well- how could this possibly bring him happiness?  
  
Well, ehrm, yes, John stuttered. But a better way of putting it is .. is, ahh ... physical pleasure. With ... with your body.  
  
I don't understand, Peter frowned, his voice strained with confusion.  
  
John choked. Well ... well, you will. You will ... one of these days.  
  
You're no good at explaining things, Peter said bitterly, frowning at this response.   
  
I would be if I wasn't explaining _this_ to _you_, John muttered sarcastically, shaking his head slowly.  
  
What's that supposed to mean?, Peter said tensely, narrowing his eyes slightly in annoyance.  
  
John smirked. Hey ... it's gone.  
  
Immediately Peter's eyes shot down to his lap. He sighed with relief, combing his wild hair back with his fingers as he did so.  
  
he said in an exasperated voice. Stupid ... thing.  
  
John raised an eyebrow at this, continuing to smirk. It was very ironic if you thought about it ... right now, he was annoyed by his sexual instinct ... in due time, he knew, Peter would be living by it. Or at least, be inspired by it.  
  
Then, slowly, his smirk fell apart and away. Thinking of Peter embracing his manhood ... it reminded him all too quickly of the entire reason he had agreed to stay and talk with Peter, the one thing he had yet to directly confront Peter with. He sighed to himself; let it be now.  
  
I know that you dreamt of Wendy, he said suddenly, his eyes locking on Peter seriously once again.  
  
Peter's eyes bulged, and he winced in surprise, blood once again rushing his cheeks. His mouth was drained dry, his mind suddenly racing, heart pounding hard- how did he know? How could he have found out? Was ... was it that obvious?  
  
I don't want to play guessing games anymore, John continued, simply frowning at Peter's shocked reaction. I _know_ that it was her in your dream. You can't deny that it wasn't. Not honestly.  
  
Peter frowned. The calm, almost sad look in John's eyes told him he had been defeated. There was no convincing John of anything but the truth.  
  
You're right, he confirmed weakly. It was ... it was her. She wasn't wearing ... and I wasn't ... and we ... but ... I don't understand it, and I didn't meant to dream it, I didn't-  
  
I know, said John in a soothing tone, interrupting Peter. Normally I would punch you for thinking about her that way, but, well ... I have something more important to get across to you.  
  
What's that?, Peter asked, slightly apprehensive.  
  
I just want to tell you, John began, his eyes dark and grave, That if you make some kind of ... move on her, you had better have the _purest_ of intentions. You have the power to hurt her more than any of us, even that godforsaken snake Caleb.  
  
stuttered Peter, his eyes widening at this highly impolite comment. You ... you hate Caleb too?  
  
We would hate anyone who wanted to marry our sister for the wrong reasons, John replied icily. Which is why I have to say this to you. If you make some kind of move on her, you must have the right reasons ... true, pure intentions toward her.  
  
What do you mean, Peter questioned hesitantly, Intentions toward her?  
  
I mean something much deeper than sex, John said, taking a step toward the bed as he spoke. Something far beyond her face and body, behind the submissive mask she wears that some think will make her a good wife. I mean the _only_ reason there is at all to marry ...  
  
I ... I don't understand what you mean, Peter said, frowning.  
  
You ... you do have intentions, don't you?, John asked slowly, frowning himself at the confused, anxious look on his face. Something you plan to do ... in regards to my sister?  
  
I ... I don't know, Peter whispered, hanging his head. In reality, the only real plan he'd had was to leave her to live in peace with a husband ... he cringed at this thought. Why had he assumed that if he came to her window and dumped a pile of kisses in her lap, she would understand what even he didn't?  
  
John protested quietly, Then ... why did you come here?  
  
You know why!, snapped Peter, his eyes now wet and filled with sadness. I ... I got older somehow! I came back because I thought ... that maybe Wendy would be able to help me ... I was ... scared and ...  
  
Everyone grows older, John said simply. It's nothing to be afraid of.  
  
Not me!, Peter cried, his moist emerald eyes flashing. I _never_ grow older!  
  
And yet you did, John said reflectively, staring at Peter's thin yet now broader shoulders, his wider chest, his more defined jaw thoughtfully.  
  
I know that!, Peter snapped bitterly.  
  
Why do you think you grew older?, John asked in a quiet, almost gentle voice, his eyes still locked on him.  
  
I told you, I don't know why, Peter said evasively, frowning. In truth, he had long known why, but for all this time had been too afraid to really look at the truth, rationalize it until he truly _understood_ why.  
  
You must have some idea, John said persistently, standing calmly a few feet from the bed.  
  
said Peter, his frown deepening at John's composed stature, his calm, serious eyes. Why was it so hard to just lie to him?  
  
The ... the ache, he whispered, turning his eyes from John. It was the ache, it hurt me inside and I ... I ...  
  
You think pain made you grow older?, John questioned cautiously. Peter, his eyes adverted, nodded bitterly.  
  
he continued, staring at Peter anxiously, From living for five years ... in her absence?  
  
At this, Peter's head shot up and spun back toward John, his emerald eyes wide once again with surprise.  
  
How did you know that?, Peter asked in a voice that was meant to be irritated, but turning out to be pleading.  
  
It isn't that hard to figure out, John said simply, frowning as his lips tightened downward. Let me tell you something, Peter.  
  
What now?, Peter asked quietly, shying away from his stare.  
  
You will be in a thousand times more pain, John said bitterly, his eyes grave and filled with warning. If you let her go through with this ...  
  
Go through with what?, Peter asked, frowning deeply as his heart began to pound. What could possibly be so much worse than the ache ... the deepest pain he'd ever known?  
  
Don't be so dense, John sighed, raking back his hair hard with his fingers. We've tried talking to her, but she won't listen. She thinks it's the only way she'll ever find happiness, ever have a family of her own to care for ... that and Father has-  
  
But she loves him, Peter interrupted in a desperate voice. That's ... that's why I can't tell her not to have a marriage with him ...  
  
You love her, John said in a firm voice, his eyes locked on him. Don't let her make this mistake.  
  
Peter winced, his eyes widening. He stared at John in a numb state of shock; how could he possibly have known that? He shifted under his steady, waiting gaze, frowning. Maybe in being so aloof John had been able to pick up more than he would've wanted him to know ...  
  
But she loves Caleb, Peter said, sighing sadly. It's _not_ a mistake.  
  
John bristled at this, then sighed. He's spent too much time dreaming of Wendy, he thought to himself, and far too little time actually looking at the real one. He knew that in time, Peter would notice the slow, sad way Wendy went about her daily routines, the distant, fearful look just beneath her false smile.   
  
Unfortunately, there was no time. By the time Peter, innocent and assuming, figured out what was actually going on instead of falling for Wendy's charade, it would be too late for change.  
  
Watch her eyes when she looks at Caleb, John said slowly. Then you'll understand why it's so wrong.  
  
Peter stared back at John, frowning; he didn't understand at all. He nodded anyway, vowing to take his advice, even if he felt fearful about doing so; what if looked into Wendy's eyes when they were on Caleb and saw in them, love? Shining, endless love ... the kind he couldn't ever break?  
  
John sighed inwardly at Peter's reaction, praying internally that he would realize what was going on before it was too late. If only he could see everything in her eyes when she's looking at him, he thought to himself. Then he'd understand the truth.  
  
I will ... do that, said Peter slowly. But ... John?  
  
Ehrm ... yes?, John asked uncertainly.  
  
Before you leave, Peter asked anxiously. You ... you never explained to me what a sex' was, and I think that I ... ought to know, you know, so that I could ... uhm ... just know, I think ...  
  
John winced, raising a perturbed eyebrow. About that. I think that it would perhaps be better if you ... just find out on your own.  
  
Peter frowned bitterly, letting out a sulky sigh.  
  
That's a pathetic explanation, he muttered, adding a few choice curse words onto the end of his sentence.  
  
Right then, said John loudly, choosing to pretend that he hadn't heard this utterance. I have ... many things to ... ehrm ... do now. Do take care, Peter.  
  
He raised a hand in good-bye, and silently, turned completely around and walked to the bedroom door, all the while feeling Peter stare daggers into his back. Relieved, he touched the doorknob; finally, he could leave.  
  
He opened the door slowly, wondering. Find out yourself, his mind repeated. He laughed silently ... maybe, just maybe, if things turned around ... he wouldn't be finding out alone after all.  
  
He smirked, and with that, the door clicked shut.  
  
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End Chapter Fourteen  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Not much to say. ^^ The next chapter also has some dealings with the sex issue, but after that, expect some plot-advancing action. One of the reasons I wanted to shove in a good chunk of humour right now is because I have planned depression for future chapters. So, if you don't like these sort of chapters, yay! They're almost done. And if you do, I hope you like angst too, because that's what the story is going to be reverting back to. Everyone, have a really nice week ... enjoy your new semesters, those of us still in the educational system!  
  
Please do return for Chapter Fifteen, which ought to be out soon seeing as it's already 2/3 written. ^_^ Thanks for reading!  
  
P.S: If you want to contribute your opinion on the sexuality within CTL, please take the poll located at , the (future) site of this story. Thanks so much!


	16. Struggling To Understand

**_  
  
Changing Toward Love  
_**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Mmm ... tired ... martial arts in the morning ... must call boyfriend ... must ... tear fingertips from keyboard ... no more writing ... ahh ... ahh ... *falls asleep*. (There's a better Authoress Note at the end, heh!)  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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After John commanded them to do so, the boys sulked out of the bedroom, casting Peter encouraging looks as they went. Although they had all grown slightly apart from John, all seven knew that their oldest brother generally had the same respectful liking of Peter, even if he lacked the adoration that they still held on to. They knew that if he was going to talk with Peter, it was for an important reason. As far as they were concerned, their prince was in good hands.  
  
And so, closing the door behind them, they retreated into the nursery. They idly tossed themselves onto beds and other objects- Tootles sat, legs dangling, on a toy chest, and Michael sat Indian-style on the floor, for example. They looked around at one another, grinning- leave it to Peter to bring out the worst of their mischievous spirits.  
  
I never thought Peter to be one to have dreams like that, commented Curly, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Do you reckon he had them before, too, and just never told?  
  
said Slightly, waving off the idea with his hand. It's because he got older.  
  
Like us, Tootles said reflectively. The other boys all nodded, agreeing with this explanation.  
  
I wonder how old you have to be before you get dreams like those, one of the twins said eagerly. Do you think we're any close? I want one.  
  
Me too, Slightly sighed dreamily. A long one.  
  
Aye, a long one, agreed Curly. Mother would be pleased; I'd get in bed right quick for one of those.  
  
Slightly grinned, nodding. I bet Peter was happy.  
  
No, you ninny, he was scared, Tootles commented. Did you see the look on his face? He thought he was going to split in half, he did.  
  
Right terrified, nodded Curly. Really quite a pity. I wish he liked them; maybe then he'd want to tell us all about it.  
  
They'll grow on him, I bet, said Slightly. Just give it time, I guess.  
  
I once had a dream like that, said Nibs, who had all this time been watching the other boys, waiting for the best opportunity to interject his little story. He was lying on his back on the bed, his head hanging down over its edge, his feet up near the headboard.  
  
Curly said, leaning forward excitedly. Was it a long one?  
  
Oh, quite long, Nibs said eagerly. Very complicated, really.  
  
said Slightly, grinning at his favorite partner in mischief. Do tell us, Nibs.  
  
Oh, tell us, cried one of the twins happily. Please do!  
  
Well, if you must insist, purred Nibs, grinning wildly. I was in this, err place. A place with lots of, uhm flowers. Yes, flowers! All over the place petals in the bed, too   
  
The twins gasped at this mention of a bed, scandalized.  
  
Go on, said Curly, who was leaning so far forward he looked as if he were about to fall over.  
  
said Nibs happily. And then, uhh ohh, we got in the bed then.  
  
Ooo, how bloody naughty!, giggled Slightly, blushing red.  
  
And then, err I oh, I remember now, said Nibs. He paused for a long while, relishing the intrigued, flushed faces of his boyish audience. He soaked in the attention, smiling wickedly, for the best was yet to come. I put my hand up her sk-  
  
  
  
The boys' heads all turned slowly in horror. Standing tall in the doorway like a massive, dark mountain encircled by a thrashing storm, was Mr. Darling. He cleared his throat again, staring knives at Nibs' forehead.  
  
I, err, put my hand up her skkk _Skills of Elementary Literacy_ textbook! I longed to stroke the, err, pages of that beautiful piece of work, Nibs stuttered feebly, correcting himself.  
  
Oh it's all right Nibs, we've all done that, coughed Slightly. Err we do love _so_ to learn. Don't we, ehrm, Tootles?  
  
Oh, right so, said Tootles shakily. I'm absolutely ravished with school.  
  
said Mr. Darling. All the boys suddenly seemed to notice him then, jumping up and grinning.  
  
Father Dear!, sang Nibs, standing. Have you been listening in on our discussion about how much we love to attend school during the year?  
  
Oh, we miss it so, said one of the twins sadly, who abruptly coughed.  
  
I have indeed, said Mr. Darling icily. You boys enjoy fondling your textbooks?  
  
said Nibs nervously. Well yes, of course! We can't resist that err essence of learning paper.  
  
Anytime you wish to drop your act would be fine with me, Mr. Darling said slowly, narrowing his eyes at Nibs, who cringed. I heard every word of your previous discussion and I must say that I am disgusted! Where on Earth did you boys pick up on such sick ideas?  
  
said Nibs. It just came naturally to us?  
  
I'm sure, growled Mr. Darling. Everything comes naturally to you and Slightly. Surely it was you two who ringled this little chat.  
  
choked Slightly, his voice quickly silenced with a glare from Mr. Darling.  
  
You two are always together on these things, he said angrily. I'm disappointed in you, boys. This time, you've gone too far! You've crossed the line! As much as I do care for you, you must learn to use discretion in the bathroom! Now!  
  
Not the soap again!, cried Nibs mournfully. That's no fair! We were just _talking_! We didn't do anything!  
  
But Mother's soap tastes like rotten old fruit!, Slightly mourned, grimacing.  
  
Mr. Darling only sighed, shaking his head slowly in anger that was carefully controlled.  
  
Obviously the soap technique has done little to improve your behavior, he spoke aloud, more to himself than to the two whimpering boys before him. Perhaps we should have sent you to that Academy For Boys In Dire Need of Social Reprimand after all ...  
  
Nibs paled visibly at least ten shades, and Slightly gulped.  
  
Mr. Darling said slowly, drawing out the single syllable as he clenched and unclenched his fists. I think I will send for a registration packet straight away ...  
  
Oh, please don't Father!, cried a voice from across the bedroom. Mr. Darling looked down at his youngest son, who was standing shakily from his sitting position on the nursery floor.  
  
Mr. Darling said reprovingly. Please stay out of this.  
  
But Father, it wasn't their fault, Michael said softly. The boys nodded hesitantly, tentatively showing their agreement. Mr. Darling frowned severely.  
  
I will not tolerate you boys to grow up heedless and uncivilized, he began dryly. You all _know_ how _inappropriate_ that particular topic-  
  
But they didn't bring it up like you said they did!, Tootles said suddenly. Mr. Darling's eyes shot toward him instead.  
  
Is that so?, he said icily. Well then! Which one of you did? Go on! Who brought up this little shenanigan of a discussion?  
  
The boys shifted their weight uneasily, looking around at each other to determine who, if anyone, would opt to speak first. Curly coughed.  
  
Tell me, Mr. Darling repeated, grating his teeth. The boys cringed, looking around at each other more frantically now. No one, however, found they could explain.  
  
said Mr. Darling, when the nursery fell once again into silence. I'll just assume it was you two then. Nibs, Slightly, to the bathroom. Now!  
  
Slightly groaned, and Nibs hung his head resolutely, sighing. They turned toward the door together, sullen and increasingly nervous under Mr. Darling's deathlike stare.  
  
You wouldn't really send them away, would you?, Michael asked as they turned toward the door in invisible chains.  
  
I'm not ruling out the possibility, Mr. Darling snapped, muttering to himself. Michael whimpered, close to tears.  
  
Out, boys, Mr. Darling commanded Nibs and Slightly, who continued to slowly, slowly shuffle toward the doorway.  
  
An uneasy silence fell over the nursery. The boys looked around at each other, frightened and apprehensive. They frowned in confusion, not sure what to do. Nibs sighed as he walked out into the hallway.  
  
Michael cried, running up to his father.   
  
Mr. Darling spun around, scowling. Judging by the twisting of his usually calm face, he was in a truly foul mood.  
  
What now?, he snapped, frowning down at his son.  
  
It was Peter that got us to talking about it!, Michael yelped, then immediately stepped back a few feet. The boys all gasped, shocked that Michael had betrayed their leader, if only in words.  
  
Mr. Darling gasped, his eyebrow raising in slight disbelief.  
  
Oh, it's true, Curly said mournfully, surrendering. There was no point in protecting Peter now, after all- the truth was out. We went into Wendy's bedroom to make sure he was, you know, all right and everything ... and when we saw him, he had a bit of an erec-  
  
A _what?!_, Mr. Darling nearly shouted, his jaw slackening in shock. Curly nodded shyly, cowering.  
  
He had an, err, pleasant dream, Michael said meekly. And we were just ... you know ... we had it on our minds ...  
  
How dare that young man poison my sons' psyches!, Mr. Darling hissed to himself. I'll have to have a _very_ strongly worded talk with him!  
  
He didn't _mean_ to uhm, poison us, Curly said shakily. It wasn't his fault he dreamt of that sort of thing. He didn't even understand what it was.  
  
He ... what?, Mr. Darling asked, perturbed.  
  
He didn't get it, Nibs said nobly from the door. He doesn't know a thing about that ... ehrm ... subject ...  
  
How can he not know anything about _that_?, Mr. Darling said, incredulous. He's ... he's nearly a grown man! In body if not mind, at least ...  
  
I guess his body is just ahead of his mind a bit, Tootles said thoughtfully from the toy chest.   
  
That's ridiculous, Mr. Darling snapped, frowning.  
  
Now, there are two things you must understand about Mr. Darling before we move on, so that you'll better know why he proposed what he did. Firstly, Mr. Darling was a well-ordered man who liked everything to be just-so. Like columns of numbers and figures, he preferred his life to be organized, categorized, and most of all, predictable. To be frank, a young man knowing nothing about sex was abnormal, downright strange in fact, and these qualities made Mr. Darling very nervous. He was always ready to set peculiar things straight.  
  
Secondly, Mr. Darling was a proud man who had been a lower level clerk for years. He liked asserting his authority over those he could, and he especially liked to hover above others, bestowing his wisdom down on them. Helping the ignorant made him feel better about his own status in life.  
  
It was these two things that henceforth set Mr. Darling's mind in motion, contemplating the tricky topic of what to do with the still innocent Peter Pan.  
  
Michael asked meekly. Are you quite all right?  
  
Mr. Darling said distractedly, snapping out of his thoughts. Ahh ... yes. I was just ... thinking ... that perhaps I should have a little ... chat ... with Peter.  
  
The eyes of all the boys widened in shock, for there were only a few things that Father ever wanted to with them about.  
  
Ehrm ... chat?, Curly repeated, dumbfounded. You don't mean ... _the_ chat?  
_  
_It's not right for a man to know nothing about his natural role in life, Mr. Darling said reflectively. It's just downright ... absurd. Yes, yes, I think a chat with Peter is indeed in order ...  
  
The boys looked around at each other, still in shock. Nibs paled now even more than he had at the mention of boarding school- after all, he had already had his with Father.  
  
Father, I don't know if you--, Slightly began shakily, but it was far too late; Mr. Darling's mind was made up, and that was that. He didn't even hear Slightly, and in fact walked straight out of the nursery door.  
  
I'll see you boys at lunchtime, he called absently as he walked briskly down the upstairs hallway. Slightly gulped, turning his head slowly toward Nibs, who was staring at the gaping mouths of the five boys in front of him.  
  
This is bad, he said quietly, voicing the disturbed thoughts of each shocked-into-silence boy.  
  
  
------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
Mr. Darling walked briskly down the hall, his mind intent on his purpose. He reached the closed bedroom door quickly, and smiled when he did. He was about to do a very good deed for a very lost soul, after all.  
  
Inside, Peter was sitting up in bed, cradling his aching head in his hands. His mind was swimming from everything that John had thrown at him so suddenly. What had he meant by asking him to watch her eyes when she looked at Caleb? Was her wedding really a mistake, like John had said, or did she love him, making it right? She'd said that she loved him, hadn't she? He thought for sure that she had, but the more he thought about it in an attempt to be _truly_ sure, the more he began to think that perhaps she hadn't.  
  
She had made one thing very clear, however. She'd told him all about marriage ... about how it meant that two people loved each other so deeply they knew they wanted to be with one another _forever_ ... for eternity ... and surely Wendy, knowing marriage so well, wouldn't want it if she didn't want Caleb ... forever. If she didn't love him.  
  
But then his mind was filled with John's voice ... she wanted a family of her own, children of her own ... he didn't understand that, though, because she lived in a house filled with youth ... weren't the boys enough? He didn't understand her need for her _own_ children ... and what did Caleb have to do with getting children, anyway? Was he going to buy them for her? That's what a husband was supposed to be good at, wasn't it, providing money? But hadn't Wendy said marriage meant love and eternity? She hadn't said that marriage meant having money ...  
  
Peter groaned, raking his hands through his hair. He was terribly confused, completely lost in the swirl of voices within his head. Sometimes, the voice was Wendy's, calm and cold, telling him ...  
  
_A marriage is something only a mature heart can understand _...  
  
Was that why he could not?  
  
_And marriage is the only way ... to escape ..._  
  
But to escape from what? He whimpered, nearly in tears; what was Wendy running from? His lips began to tremble, his head filled with the slow, terrible pain that is helplessness ...   
  
_Don't let her make this mistake ..._  
  
_You'll be in a thousand times more pain if you do ..._  
  
  
He winced as a warm tear slid down his cheek. They was no pain worse than the pain of being helpless, of ignorance and confusion in the face of a foe that could only be fought with understanding and strength of heart. There could not possibly be a pain worse than this, the pain of not knowing how it would end, if it would at all. There could be no pain worse than the fear of letting the worst happen by mistake, from not saving what needed to be saved in time.  
  
He sighed shakily. He wished, for a moment, that Wendy was tied again to the mast, and he was flying to her, cutting her free, grinning proudly. And she ... she would smile brightly, and throw her arms around him happily, and it would be that simple. She would be in danger, and he would easily save her. Without much effort at all, he would cut the bonds and make her free.  
  
Peter frowned, realizing that in his increasing simple fantasy, both he and Wendy were children. She worn not a corset, but a flowing white nightgown, and he ... his old outfit of slick emerald leaves.  
  
He knew it could not be that way. He knew, in the depths of his heart, that was Wendy was indeed screaming, crying out for help ... she was tied, not to a mast, but to something worse ... and her bonds were not ropes, and his dagger could leave no mark in them. Her screaming haunted him even now, when he recalled the constant, hidden fear in her eyes ...  
  
Peter shook his head suddenly, clearing his mind by force. He blinked back hot tears, trembling. Perhaps ... he did not _want_ to understand.  
  
The door was opened with a loud click.  
  
Peter's head shot up toward the door. He frowned, apprehensive, knowing that it was Wendy. He swallowed hard ... what could he say to explain his muddled thoughts?  
  
The door slid open slowly, and a shadowed, tall figure appeared behind it. He stepped forward into the morning sunlight, grimacing at Peter.  
  
Mr. Darling?, Peter choked, shocked that he too was coming to check on his health.  
  
Why, good morning, Mr. Darling said tensely. I was, ehrm, talking with the boys just now, and I thought ... well, that we might have a little chat, just the two of us.  
  
Peter frowned, raising an eyebrow in doubt.  
  
About what?, he asked suspiciously. Mr. Darling forced a smile, still standing quite far from him in the doorway.  
  
Oh, well ... ahh ... the boys told me that you had a certain dream that you ... hmm ... didn't quite understand, he replied nervously. I thought we might talk so that I could ... explain it all to you.  
  
Explain it to me?, Peter repeated incredulously. It sounded a bit suspicious to him, but none the less, he was offering to explain that which Peter's curiosity could not leave alone ... that which both the boys and John had failed to explain to him. The offer, therefore, began to appeal more and more to him with the passing seconds.  
  
Mr. Darling answered, waiting. Peter seemed to be contemplating his proposal, weighing in his mind whether or not he was going to go along with it.  
  
Peter said at last. But only because I want to understand.  
  
said Mr. Darling, eying him uneasily. Good, then. I assure you, I will tell you everything you need to know.  
  
  
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End Chapter Fifteen  
  
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** Ending Notes**: AHH! This is frustraaating! Hmph. Well, it's not all that bad, I suppose ... but the thing is, I had originally planned out this chapter to be the chapter with the actually in it, ending the humor chapter trio so that I could move on to the Peter and Wendy confrontation chapter ... but then, this chapter ended up being ungodly long, and as I want all my chapters to be within a few pages of the same length, I had to chop this up into two chapters ... making it the third chapter with humor as a focus, which means that there is now an, ehrm, quadruple humor chapter thing ... followed by the Peter and Wendy confrontation chapter that would be next but now isn't because I had to add in another chapter with Mr. Darling's talk ... I just confused myself so much.  
  
Basically, I guess this is what I'm saying ... expect some Peter and Wendy one-on-one not in the next chapter, but the next after that. The next chapter will be half humor, half setting up that chapter ... yay ... heh, I'm actually really looking forward to my revert back to angst. I miss angst.   
  
Plus I'm sad, so, yeah.  
  
I even ended up adding in some unplanned angst in this chapter, with Peter's confusion ... mmm ... I want them to confront each other so badly ... I'm glad they will, in a good fifteen pages or so ...  
  
Oh, good news. The next chapter is actually 90% done, so I'll be able to post it kinda soon after I post this one.  
  
And finally, HELLO SEXY READERS! I LOVE YOU! And please come back for the next chapter. =3  
  
P.S: Sexuality poll : peterloveswendy.8k.com ... CTL website, unfinished. Thank you to everyone who took the poll, or is going to take it! Much love!


	17. Every Girl Has A Flower

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Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: Hurray for posting within a decent time! Yatta! My boyfriend is coming here (to Wisconsin) on Thursday *dances!* ... so all in all, I'm cheerful. If you're fond of humor, read this chapter twice or something, because it's all you'll be getting from me for awhile (at least, in such a focused amount). I love everyone, and thanks for the beautiful, kind reviews. ^^  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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It was with an anxious heart that Peter followed Mr. Darling down the stairs, his footsteps heavy and unconsciously slow. Under normal circumstances, he would have never consented to willingly spend time alone with Wendy's practical, stern father. He tried to avoid him as best he could, actually.   
  
On this particular morning, however, Mr. Darling had the upper hand over Peter- he knew something that he did not. Lead by his insatiable, youthful curiosity, Peter really had no choice. He was following the older man for the sole person of discovering the mystery of his rapidly changing body and upsetting, albeit strangely pleasant, dreams.  
  
Perhaps this was why he was so pale as Mr. Darling opened the door to his office, holding it open for Peter as he passed through. Inwardly, Peter braced himself, slightly nervous- who knew what the older man was going to tell him. Maybe, just maybe, he had broken after all.  
  
Right then, said Mr. Darling in a slightly apprehensive voice as he walked to his desk. Have a seat.  
  
Peter sat down awkwardly in a cold burgundy leather office chair, fighting his simple urge to run as quickly as possible out of the office, or rather fly like mad through the window in a rain of shattered glass. Though he really had little idea what this little chat was actually going to entail, he still felt nervous and much, much too warm. He shifted his weight uneasily in the uncomfortable chair, waiting.  
  
said Mr. Darling at last. Peter failed to say a word, fidgeting in the chair and wordlessly staring at him with a slightly perturbed expression. I suppose I should start by saying that nothing at all is wrong with you. This is a perfectly normal err experience for a boy your age. Especially a boy your age  
  
That's, ahh, said Peter hesitantly. Good to know ...  
  
replied Mr. Darling, shuffling random papers nervously. Is it true that you honestly don't know anything about err this topic?  
  
Obviously not, said Peter indignantly. After all, if he did, he wouldn't have been so curious as to be willingly sitting through this conversation. Mr. Darling frowned, disturbed that he'd have to start at the beginning.  
  
he began in a shaky voice, Err I like to explain this the way my father first explained it to me. The ahh first thing to know is that every girl has a flower.  
  
A what? Peter asked, frowning.  
  
A flower! snapped Mr. Darling. Yes, a flower. A very special flower.  
  
Peter thought about this, applying it first to Wendy, as she was the only girl that occupied his thoughts. He knew she didn't carry hers around with her maybe she kept it hidden away in one of her drawers?  
  
Err go on, requested Peter impatiently, when Mr. Darling failed to keep talking.  
  
he said very quickly. And every man has a a watering can.  
  
A watering can? Peter repeated slowly, frowning. He knew that he had never owned a watering can, not even in the Neverland he'd never had the patience to grow anything. Everything he had eaten that wasn't meat he had simply found by wandering around in the forest. If every man had one, why didn't he?  
  
Maybe he was still a boy, and not quite a man yet, he reasoned. This comforted him somewhat.  
  
Yes a watering can! Must you make me repeat myself constantly?!, Mr. Darling snapped in a shaky voice. And when a man waters a girls' flower, her seeds grow, and then-  
  
interjected Peter. They have seeds too? You didn't mention any-  
  
The seeds go with the flower, said Mr. Darling in a half-miserable, half-furious voice. And so, if a man takes a woman's flower, and waters her seeds so that they grow-  
  
A man takes the flower from her? Peter asked, slightly confused. He thought on what Wendy's flower must look like a white rose, he decided. A white rose with blue around the edges, a soft, warm blue like her eyes.  
  
Well, yes, and a woman gives it to him, Mr. Darling stuttered, beginning to blush. A woman has only one flower. It's very, very precious, and that is why it is only given after marriage, with love and commitment present. Do you understand?  
  
said Peter. In reality, he was horribly confused, but he hoped that by agreeing Mr. Darling would go on to explain what he actually needed to know. Err yes.  
  
said Mr. Darling. He smoothed the papers on his desk and suddenly looked up, his eyes boring into those of Peter. He winced, shifting his weight uneasily in his hard leather chair- that look, however pathetic coming from Mr. Darling, still made his insides curl.   
  
Which brings us to a much more important subject, Mr. Darling said, his dark eyes suddenly cold.  
  
Peter sighed in relief, glad that the real conversation was about to start.  
  
At this exact moment, Wendy was walking past the office door, having just left the kitchen. Her arms were filled with medical supplies – a cold wet cloth for Peter's forehead, a new bandage to replace the old, a thermometer to make sure his temperature was not much too high (at which point we might need to take him down to the hospital, she thought miserably), and on a wooden tray, breakfast- scrambled eggs that had gone cold, bacon that was moist but cold as well, and lukewarm orange juice. Her mind was completely focused on Peter's health, her heart worrying more and more with each beat  
  
And so it was that when she passed the office door and heard his voice, she was shocked. He was feverish! He needed to be upstairs in bed! She set her burden on the floor next to the office door and raised her hand to knock, ready to drag Peter back upstairs as quickly as possible.  
  
Which brings us to a much more important subject.  
  
Wendy frowned at her father's voice, recognizing that tone all too well. It was the voice he used to reprimand the boys whenever they did something horribly bad- that time Nibs had managed to tuck a dead frog's corpse tightly in Aunt's garter when she had fallen asleep knitting while watching them, for instance. This time, however, this same tone- it was even more severe.  
  
Well, go on, tell me, said Peter impatiently, eager to know more about this perfectly normal mystery of growing older.  
  
If you ever, said Mr. Darling slowly, in a cold, dark voice, _Ever_ so much as _look_ at my daughter in a way that is in any way associated with the conversation we have just had, you _will_ regret it.  
  
Wendy gasped, pressing her ear hard to the door to hear more, longing for Peter's reaction. She cursed her father; how could he go so far as to actually threaten Peter, who had done nothing? She frowned a bit at this he _had_ done nothing.  
  
What you mean, look at her flower? Peter asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.  
  
How _dare_ you insinuate such a vulgar concept! Mr. Darling roared, standing to hover over his desk in an extremely intimidating fashion. Peter frowned, unthreatened but slightly perturbed.  
  
Wendy blinked slowly as her mouth dropped open. Her flower? Was her father referring to her virginity? Inwardly, she groaned she remembered from their why are wedding dresses always white? conversation that Peter had absolutely no concept of a virgin.  
  
She felt herself blush red at this thought of Peter and her virginity in the same sentence, shifting her feet uncomfortably as she willed her stomach to stop flip-flopping. As her blush deepened, she scolded herself she couldn't possibly be thinking about them like that?  
  
Ehrm, sorry, said Peter, frowning deeply. I won't I swear.  
  
You had better not, growled Mr. Darling. I would talk to you more about this, but I'm really not very worried. After all, you won't be spending much time with Wendy, come a few weeks time   
  
What are you talking about? Peter asked, his voice much quieter than he had intended. Of course I'll spend time with her, I   
  
She'll be a very busy woman, said Mr. Darling in a slightly sad voice. Setting up her new household and all. And oh, the honeymoon she'll be away a week for that  
  
What's a honeymoon? Peter asked regretfully. Maybe he could convince her not to go he would miss her if she had to go away  
  
A honeymoon is when a man and woman who have just married spend some special time away with one another, said Mr. Darling, frowning. They'll be visiting France for eight days Paris, you know, romantic city and all  
  
Peter didn't know where Paris was, and he didn't care. What mattered was what a honeymoon meant he cringed at the definition, his lips beginning to tremble.  
  
When is Wendy having her marriage? he cried out suddenly, his hands clutching the hard, polished wood of his chair.  
  
You don't know? asked Mr. Darling, looking slightly insulted. Why, two weeks from tomorrow!  
  
Two weeks from tomorrow, Peter repeated in a whisper to himself. How how far away is that?  
  
Fourteen days, not counting this one, replied Mr. Darling with a deep, disappointed frown.  
  
Only fourteen? Peter questioned softly. Mr. Darling nodded gravely, pointing to a calendar that hung on his office wall.  
  
That's too soon, Peter said desperately to himself. Fourteen days was not long at all! She she couldn't be married so so soon  
  
Mr. Darling said hesitantly, deciding to ignore Peter's last comment. In any case, in two weeks she'll be away in France with Caleb, and after that, she'll be busy moving everything into the new house, setting everything up properly, and then-  
  
She's moving into a new house? Peter cried, his eyes growing moist at all these horrible thoughts. Mr. Darling stared at him as though he were insane, then nodded slowly.  
  
Of course she's moving into a new house, he said incredulously. Did you really think that she and Caleb would live _here_ as man and wife? Honestly.  
  
But but, Peter stuttered, frowning deeply and shaking his head. I'll still see her, won't I? I'll  
  
She'll be very, _very_ busy, Mr. Darling repeated in an annoyed tone. She'll hardly have any free time, being a new wife certainly no time to play foolish games with _you_  
  
But I'll visit, Peter insisted. A warm, wet tear slid down his cheek.  
  
What, fly in through the window into her bedroom? Mr. Darling said, holding back a laugh. Peter frowned, not sure what to say.  
  
I suppose I will, he said defiantly, though in reality his voice sounded timid and weak.  
  
Well, that would certainly surprise Caleb, wouldn't it? Mr. Darling said, now laughing openly. He leaned back in his chair, raising an amused eyebrow.  
  
She'll be sleeping in the same bed as him? Peter said in a half-disgusted, half-miserable voice. Mr. Darling once again frowned with disbelief.  
  
Of course, he said slowly, as if by speaking slowly Peter could better understand his words. They'll be _married_.  
  
I'll I'll visit through the front door then, Peter continued in a desperate, pleading voice.  
  
Oh, I'm sure Wendy will have time to entertain the family with a dinner once a week or so, Mr. Darling said with a fond smile. But other than that no, oh no. She'll be much too busy to host frequent visitors especially you, I imagine. You seem to take an especially large amount of effort to spend time with  
  
Peter pleaded, his voice shaky. I I'll miss her  
  
Oh, so will I, so will I, said Mr. Darling reflectively, smiling in a melancholy way. My only daughter, all grown up but it has to happen some day, doesn't it? Ha Caleb is a fine match for her. I'm sure that she'll be happy, once she adjusts  
  
Wendy, her ear still pressed to the thin door, blinked, freeing a warm tear to slid down her cheek.  
  
Why why is he a good husband for her? Peter asked, feeling his chest begin to slowly expand with the ache, an ache filled with longing and desire, loneliness and pain doubt and hope anger   
  
said Mr. Darling proudly, He's an intelligent man with sound judgment, wealthy he'll be able to give Wendy a good future, a bright future  
  
I hate him, Peter said suddenly.  
  
Mr. Darling stared at him, his eyes stunned and slowly growing cold. Excuse me?  
  
I said I hate him, muttered Peter. Every time I look at him I get a sick feeling in my stomach. There's something wrong about him.  
  
Is there? Mr. Darling questioned angrily. I'll have you know that I would not have my daughter marry someone inadequate! My Wendy deserves the best, and I have found her the best!  
  
He scowled, his flame-filled eyes boring into those of Peter, who tried to stare back proudly, but managed only a sad glance in his direction.  
  
You are a selfish, insolent boy who cannot accept that the world does not always work in your favor, Mr. Darling said shrilly, his face red. If you are going to live with us, you must realize that you cannot have everything you want. Wendy is no longer your childhood friend. She is a woman, and soon, she will be a _married_ woman with children of her own to care for! If you cannot accept that, then then go back to wherever it is you've been all this time!  
  
Peter felt his fingers begin to shake as he continued to grip the sides of his chair. His lips trembled, his emerald eyes unusually dark he thought about this, knowing that it was exactly what he had planned to do the night before.  
  
The dream flooded his mind Wendy, her hair wild, her head in the curve of his shoulder smiling up at him happily, her eyes bright as he had only seen them five years ago completely unbarred from him, himself relaxed, his happiness sourced from hers and he knew, then, that he would not leave until she was gone.  
  
I will only leave, he said slowly. If Wendy wishes it.  
  
Then stay, said Mr. Darling icily. But do not dare to interfere with this wedding. It is what's best for Wendy. Only _you_ refuse to see that.  
  
Peter frowned, angrily staring at Mr. Darling. He thought he knew what was best for Wendy, but he didn't. What was best for Wendy, he knew, was happiness- her old spirit. He remembered her when she was happy, when her soul had been carefree, her eyes clear and bright. Now, that old flame had nearly been stifled ... her eyes were dull and distant, her soul tied to so many bonds that it was a wonder her body could move about at all. She was no longer happy, and he was sure- nearly- that marriage had something to do with it.  
  
If only she didn't love him, maybe he could but no, he could not.  
  
Still, he would not leave, would not surrender to Mr. Darling's judgment. He sat angrily in his seat, waiting.  
  
asked Mr. Darling, waiting for Peter to speak. He did not.  
  
Outside the office door, Wendy had laid her forehead on the cool, dark wood as she cried, stifling her sobs to be as quiet as possible. It torn her apart to hear those words, to hear that Peter had managed to see through her mask, had somehow realized despite his innocence the source of her pain. He was not the only one who refused to see what was best. On the outside, yes, she accepted it, but on the inside, her heart screamed that it was wrong. So very wrong.  
  
said Mr. Darling, when Peter continued only to stare. This conversation is over. Please leave.  
  
Peter stood in a flash, pivoting on his heels to rush as fast and as angrily as possible from the office without another word.  
  
Wendy, hearing the screech of the chair against the wood floor as Peter stood, hurriedly stepped back from the door and gathered up the things she had been carrying up to her patient. Taking them, she hurried across the front room, hiding in a shadowy alcove near and slightly under the stairs.  
  
She watched from there as Peter slammed the office door, walked heavily up the stairs and disappeared into her bedroom, allowing the door to shut loudly behind him.  
  
  
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End Chapter Sixteen  
  
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** Ending Notes**: All right, the humor is over for now. ^^ The next chapter is one in which Peter and Wendy actually communicate *dances* and confront each other *yay!* ... I don't know why I'm cheering, it's not like the story is ending or something ... I guess I'm just happy to revert back to emotional writing. Expect what you're most likely not expecting.  
  
P.S: Sexuality poll : peterloveswendy.8k.com ... CTL website, unfinished. Thank you to everyone who took the poll, or is going to take it! Much love!  
  
Please come back and read the chapter in Peter and Wendy confront each other! I'll post it, uhm ... well ... I don't know when, but when I do, please do read it. ^^ It probably won't be for awhile, as I'm a bit busy, but you never know ...


	18. Storybook Fantasy

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Changing Toward Love  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: They're at the bottom. I'm sorry that I have not updated in so very long - I was and am very depressed, and as such could not bear to write of love.  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
And now the story!  
  
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Wendy stood numbly in front of her closed bedroom door. Her palms were slick with cold sweat, and the tightness of her corset dug so deeply into her abdomen that she felt sure she would be sick. A small part of her was screaming for her to just leave Peter be. He would understand in time her choice to be married, her need to be married. Talking to him now, when he was furious and upset, would surely only make matters worse.  
  
She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. This nervous panic in her mind shouted on, but a greater part of her spirit- her heart- was silently begging her to speak with him, to explain to him. Wendy always listened to her heart in the end, and so it was with this decision.  
  
She reached out her hand, slowing turning the knob of her door and allowing it to slide quietly open.  
  
As the door gently hit the wall, she froze.  
  
Peter was sitting on the side of the bed that faced the door, his head in his hands. His legs were spread wide, his elbows resting on his knees as his body shook with the effort of crying. The palms of his hands were pressed hard over his eyes as if to stop it, but this could not slow his tears.  
  
Wendy whispered, her lips quivering.  
  
Immediately, his body froze. He swallowed hard, blinking in shock before he began to rub furiously at his eyes, rubbing away the tears that stained them.  
  
he choked, and he prayed then that she would leave and return later, for he was ashamed to be seen by her in such a weak state.  
  
Why are you crying? Wendy asked gently, though she knew the answer perfectly well. She walked forward, reaching behind herself to push the door closed.  
  
Peter did not answer at first, his head still buried in his wet hands. Finally, he shook his head, his golden brown hair shifting slightly.  
  
You won't tell me? Wendy whispered, and Peter pursed his lips, pushing his palms deep into his eye sockets, so that the darkness he saw began to burst with odd, shifting blurs of colored light.  
  
I'm not crying, he said at last, swallowing hard down his tight throat.  
  
Please, don't lie to me, Wendy commanded softly, and she closed the gap between them, standing just a few feet in front of him. She wanted to step forward, to kneel down and rest her head on his knee and cry herself, but she fought this urge and remained standing.  
  
Why did you come? Peter mouthed slowly, sniffling despite himself. Just go away.  
  
I won't, Wendy replied, standing firmly though these words sent a blow to her heart.  
  
I want you to go, Peter hissed, his head still buried in his hands, for no matter how hard he rubbed away the tears, he knew his eyes were still bloodshot, his bronze skin still pale and damp.  
  
Look at me, and then perhaps I will, said Wendy bravely. She bit the bottom of her lip; inside she was quite scared of staying, but she knew there was much yet to be said.  
  
Go away, Peter repeated, his voice cold but trembling. He wanted her to leave, because as he cried for her, thought on her, even saw her, his heart tightened and stretched and clenched so badly he was sure it would shatter. Wendy gave him a terribly warm, melting sort of feeling, but at the same time she was a source of pain, of a pain that was tearing apart some essential part of him inside. In that, he could not bear to see her.  
  
Look at me, Wendy asked again, her voice coaxing but too quiet to be confident.  
  
Peter heard her voice, and inwardly he sighed miserably. She would not leave him so easily.  
  
He released his head from his hands, lifting his chin upwards toward her.  
  
Wendy felt her heart still as she looked down at him, stinging tears welling up in her eyes. His eyes were red and wet, the emerald green within them so dark and obscured that she barely recognized it, barely saw the light that was always supposed to shine in the eyes of Peter Pan. It was there, yes, but flickering and dying, not nearly as bright and strong as it had been years ago. Her jaw began to quiver as her tears slid down; she was killing his very soul.  
  
Peter asked suddenly, his eyes and voice so distant and desperate that Wendy found herself wanting to run away, longing to not face what was happening to him and to herself so much that she nearly turned away.  
  
Why what? she asked, and she knew immediately that this was a horrible question, a question to which she already knew the answer.  
  
Why do you want to marry him? Peter whispered, his lips open and his eyelids drooping. What is it that makes you want to spend always with him?  
  
I've told you this before, Wendy answered tensely, shaking her head slightly. I want to marry Caleb because ... I want to raise a family, and he'll be able to take care of me, and–  
  
Peter said quietly. You already told me that part. I want to know why you _love_ him.  
  
Love him, Wendy repeated in a quiet gasp, and Peter clenched his teeth, waiting.  
  
Peter affirmed in a detached voice. Tell me what it is about him.  
  
began Wendy, staring at him. The world around her began to spin, blurring the entire room except for her heart's focus; Peter. He gazed back at her numbly, his rich green eyes, so often wide with eagerness and curiosity, now clouded and dull.  
  
She could think of no answer, nothing that would inspire her to love her fiancée. Her thoughts belonged to the boy standing just in front of her, her heart throbbing with the pain of knowing that she, with her own words, was wiping the joy from his eyes. It was her fault, and hers alone, and the realization of this consumed her ... especially since she knew inside that it was all a lie.  
  
Peter said quietly, urging her to speak.  
  
I just, Wendy tried to begin again. I ... oh, why must you ask me this?  
  
She immediately scorned herself for such a pathetic answer, clutching her face as she let her head fall into her hands, shaking it slowly. It was all a lie, a lie designed for Peter that was killing the most precious part of him, and in effect murdering her. She whimpered, crying; there was no choice.   
  
She would have to continue to lie. She could not be with Peter; there was no option for the truth. Not in the real world of adulthood.  
  
Because I don't understand why, Peter answered, long seconds too late. He waited, cringing as he watched Wendy cry from frustration. He longed to reach out to her, to touch and comfort her, but some force would not let him. He was frozen in his place.  
  
You're keeping things from me, Wendy, he said instead. _Move_, his mind chanted, _she's crying, move, move now touch her ... _but instead he rambled his thoughts out.  
  
You tell me that you love him, but you can't say why? You want to ... marry him, spend eternity with him and yet you can't answer my question? You're ... you're sad. You're ... crying and ... you should be happy to be getting married, if you love-  
  
Be quiet, Peter, Wendy whispered, her face still hidden away behind her palms.   
  
Peter froze, remaining frozen in place watching her. His lips trembled, now knowing what he was supposed to say. Wendy broke the cold, brief silence.  
  
I'm sorry, she offered quickly, But I've heard that line so many times. You should be happy to marry such a fine man, Wendy.' I'm so tired of hearing it ... I'm just so tired ...  
  
Don't be married with him, then, Peter offered gently, and for a moment, his heart jumped; this solution was so simple, it could be the one.   
  
It's not like that, Wendy sighed. It's so much more than that ... it's ... you said that I was hiding things from you, did you not?  
  
I did, Peter answered unsurely. He gazed at Wendy uncertainly as she removed her head from her hands, revealing a pale face that was calm and blank. He sensed in his mind that something was horribly wrong, a quality in the air that spoke of how wrongly they were communicating. They should not be talking, it whispered. This moment is not meant for mere words.  
  
I have been, Wendy admitted firmly, swallowing hard to clear her throat.  
  
Tell me, then, Peter asked again, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach still warning him of something amiss.  
  
I have tried, she began hesitantly, So hard ... to protect you. I thought that it would be easier for you to accept that I was marrying Caleb if you knew that I loved him ... easier for you to accept that I was grown if you thought I was chasing some fantasy out of a storybook: true love. I wanted to make you think that this world still has bits and pieces of yours scattered about in it, but it doesn't. It never has.  
  
What do you mean? Peter winced, feeling the urge the step back from Wendy's penetrating blue stare.  
  
This world, she spoke gently, Has no fairy tale endings. I'm marrying Caleb because I'm a woman, Peter. The only chance I have at finding the life I want is to marry him. I want children, and I don't want to live forever in this house, with my parents, no matter how dear they are to me. I want to have my own life, and because I am a woman, this is the only way. My only choice is to marry a man.  
  
Peter asked desperately. Why does it matter if you're a girl? You can do everything a boy can do, I've seen it! You can wield a sword, and build just as well ... and you can even do more, like cook and ... care for everyone. You're just as good, Wendy.  
  
Wendy laughed sadly, her eyelids lowering slightly.  
  
I wish that you were the world, Peter, she whispered, and smiled so terribly that Peter felt his insides were going to be pulled inside out and torn apart if he did not stop it, did not reach out and replace her smile with joy immediately.  
  
But he couldn't stop it, and neither could she.  
  
Answer me this, he whispered instead, swallowing hard and forcing his voice to be calm. Is a man ... a grown man ... a boy who accepts that all of this is true, and does it? Does what the world says a man should do?  
  
I suppose that's truth enough, Wendy replied distantly, her smile fading.  
  
And a woman, Peter asked, clenching his teeth. A woman is a girl who accepts that she cannot do all that she can?  
  
Wendy pursed her lips, staring at him almost in pity. She nodded.  
  
she repeated. I suppose that's the truth.  
  
Then I would rather you stayed a girl!, Peter shouted, stepping harshly forward. Wendy gasped, stepping back away from him in shock. He shook his head roughly, gnashing his teeth in fury.  
  
I understand now why I hate this world! he cried, pressing closed his eyes. I've known forever that I wanted to stay a boy but never understood exactly _why_ I had to! Thank you, Wendy ... thank you for finally explaining it to me ... !  
  
Wendy called softly. He continued to shake his head angrily, and then slower, until it was more out of sadness than rage.   
  
He opened his green eyes weakly, keeping them locked upon her.  
  
he whispered tiredly. Stay always as you were. You make a perfect girl, Wendy.  
  
I wish that I could, Wendy sighed, turning away slightly.  
  
You can, Peter insisted, taking a step forward.  
  
I can't choose not to grow up, she explained miserably, quietly. I need to grow older, I need to change.  
  
he whispered, taking another step toward her. The gap between them was closed, and he, for the first time, gave into the begging of his inner voice. He reached out his hand, delicately tracing his fingertips down her cheek.  
  
Wendy's eyes widened and her face paled visibly from the shock, her lips falling open in a silent gasp.  
  
There are things about you, he continued, tilting his face downward slowly toward hers, That are so beautiful ... they can never change. No matter how old you grow.  
  
Wendy blinked, simply looking up at Peter in surprise. He began to smirk, then smile- a slow, warm smile that flickered with his familiar ease and joy. His rich emerald eyes lit with it as well, nervousness and anticipation burning brightly in them.  
  
Shyly, he let his free hand brush her waist, first hovering and then touching her hip softly. He let his other hand drift from her cheek to her jaw, and leaving it resting just behind her slender neck.  
  
Swallowing nervously, he closed his eyes and leaned very slightly forward, waiting as savored the feeling of Wendy's warm, steady breath on his cheek, the scent of her flowing hair.  
  
He waited, his hand tightening around her waist when he felt her lips finally drift upward, her breath quicker now, warmer and closer.  
  
he heard her whisper, and he opened his eyes halfway, looking down at her affectionately.  
  
he gasped quickly, not asking, his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
I can't, she gasped, and she whimpered aloud, turning her head suddenly away. Peter's mind jolted back into reality, and his face fell, the glimmer in his eyes snuffing out like black lightening.  
  
In a last desperate, unconscious attempt, he pulled her closer with the hand he still rested on her waist, and she cried out in protest, pressing her hands into his chest and suddenly, firmly pushing him away, stepping back as she did so.  
  
Please understand, she begged as he stumbled backward, his mind racing with confusion as his heart simultaneously began to surge with pain, with doubt and misery all merged into one sudden, tumultuous emotion. He gasped, looking up at her in shock as wetness began to flood his eyes.  
  
Please understand, she repeated ragged, tears flooding her own eyes. There is no life for me as a girl, Peter. There is no reality in it, no future. I need more than a satisfying present, I need a future. I need a _future--  
  
_You need him, Peter snapped, blinking and freeing a rush of warm, salty droplets. You want _him! _Is that really what you want forever? Him?_ Don't lie to me!  
  
_ Wendy cried, her jaw trembling. I want a real life, a real future, not some storybook fantasy!  
  
Peter growled, trying to swallowing the hard lump in his throat but failing miserably. Enjoy that life, you pathetic _woman_!  
  
Wendy stared at him numbly for a second, then burst into tears, turning violently from him. Peter remained standing in front of her, immobile and miserable, but after a moment the pain of it all overwhelmed him. Frightening and tortured by an anger so great he was struggling not to destroy even himself for want of ridding himself of it, he closed his burning eyes to the sobbing girl in front of him.  
  
He turned sharply, storming from the nursery in a fit of stinging tears and overwhelming emotion. He did not bother to close the door as he went, leaving it wide open as he ran heavily through it.   
  
He did, however, slam the nursery door, sending a shower of thick splinters into the upstairs hall.  
  
  
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End Chapter Seventeen  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Sorry about that, but I ... I had to. I have plans for the future of this story, and that simply had to happen. I want to apologize for not updating in a long, long while, but I have been miserable and unable to write of love.  
  
Please come back for the next chapter, which I hope to complete within a week. I love you, everyone, and thank you a thousand times over for the kind reviews, especially for those who reviewed while I was away and urged me to continue. May the Goddess bless all of you, and take care.


	19. Simple Reflections

  
**_ Changing Toward Love  
_****__**  
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**Notes of the Authoress Anthy**: I return from the depths of my regrettable life to bring to you this chapter! I do hope that you enjoy it. I'm sorry that it took me so long to get it out ... more notes at the end, I suppose. I love you all! Take care and read on!  
  
**Disclaimer**: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!  
  
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Slightly breathed, letting his eyes drift up toward the parlor ceiling. The eyes of the other boys followed suit, wide and but not really surprised. A moment later, the echo of the slam (and in fact, partial shatter) of the nursery room door faded into silence.  
  
Having a lovers' quarrel, I suppose, Nibs added uneasily. What do you think happened?  
  
one of the twins whispered. Of course, they all knew it was Peter who had slammed the door. They had never seen their gentle sister in any sort of rage, and even if one did come upon her, there was no doubt in their minds that she would still quietly let her door click shut.  
  
Of course Peter happened, John commented, turning a page of his leather-bound book. Young eyes turned from the ceiling and each other to their eldest brother, who still sat firmly in his straight-backed, burgundy armchair. Nothing happens unless Peter is around. When he isn't, life is simply planned.  
  
Is that an insult? Slightly hissed, defensive over his brother-prince.  
  
Is the pond insulted by the rock that is thrown into it? John replied poetically, his nose still buried in his book. Or does it enjoy the ripples?  
  
Oh, shove it John, Curly sighed. If you've got something to say about Peter, say it.  
  
I'm just commenting on his uncanny ability to ruffle feathers, John answered smoothly, turning another page.  
  
That's the truth, Nibs added thoughtfully. Although I sure hope he decides to _pluck_ the feathers off of a certain _rooster_ soon enough, if you lads know what I mean.  
  
And then, we'll cook him! one of the twins exclaimed excitedly. In burning hot oil!  
  
With butter! yelped the other. When he isn't quite dead!  
  
Slightly interrupted loudly, standing. The twins hushed themselves, and all of the other boys (less John) turned to face him, eyebrows raised.  
  
Slightly grinned, satisfied with the sudden attention that was shining upon him.  
  
My friends, first things first, he commanded. Why did Peter slam the door?  
  
He's angry that Wendy is marrying that pig? Nibs answered, and Slightly nodded approvingly.  
  
Or maybe the talk Father had with him shattered all his hopes about the, uhm, you know, suggested Curly. Bees and birds thing.  
  
John sighed from behind his book. Slightly turned to him, irritated.  
  
And what's your guess, dear ol' brother? he asked testily.  
  
Perhaps Peter has just learned a bit too much about our world, John silkily replied, A bit too fast.  
  
The boys looked around at each other, digesting this. None seemed willing to accept their brother's answer as the truth, as they all wanted a simple explanation.  
  
I still think Father disturbing him is a valid reason, Toodles shrugged.  
  
John spoke again, and again the boys' eyes all turned on him, for John rarely spoke much now in their discussions, Why don't you go and find out?  
  
As if on cue, a series of loud thumps and rumblings began to sound from the floor above. Loud, distant crashes echoed down the staircase, some deep and heavy, like a bed being flipped over, and some quick and high-pitched, the sound of glass shattering.  
  
I think he's angry, Curly cringed, raising his eyes to the ceiling.  
  
Bloody hell, Nibs cursed, standing. He's going to rip apart the entire nursery!  
  
It's time for some brotherly intervention, Slightly declared, albeit somewhat nervously. Come on men, upstairs. John, you too.  
  
I think you can handle this one, John said from his burgundy perch, turning a third page of his book.   
  
Not this time, John, Nibs said, frowning. You're the biggest. You're the least likely to die if he throws the bookcase at you.  
  
John answered, blinking down at his book. It's not my desire to get in the middle of this.  
  
Trying to stay away from love, eh? Curly asked daringly. John said nothing, only creased his brow in slight anger.  
  
Come off it, John, Slightly encouraged. You know that if you were Peter—  
  
John scoffed. I am nothing even remotely like Peter.  
  
But if you _were_, Slightly continued insistently. And Wendy were Tiger Lily, you'd be on her like butter on bread. Very warm, melted butter- right boys?  
  
Oh, very true, Nibs smirked. Help us reunite the lovebirds, won't you? You can be the knife that spreads on the butter on Wendy!  
  
That is sick, John commented dryly. And wrong.  
  
Only metamorphicly speaking, Curly grinned. Come on, John. Just help us. You know Wendy deserves better than that slimy old prick.  
  
John grunted, his lips curling into a half-hidden sneer. Smiles broke out among the boys; a sneer from John's mouth was a sign of true disgust, and true disgust in John was a rare thing indeed. They knew that their brother had an all or nothing type of spirit- if he didn't feel strongly about something, he was firm in avoiding it, but when genuine emotion inflamed him ... he was a force to be reckoned with.  
  
That and, of course, they knew their eldest brother's greatest weakness. He loved his only sister more than anyone in the world.  
  
Right then, yelped Slightly, grinning upon realizing that John had just joined their ranks. To the nursery, before the floor caves in from the impact!  
  
Take the stairs by two, Nibs ordered excitedly. He smiled his wide, toothy smile before quickly saluting his comrades, then gestured wildly for them to follow. In a clumsy bit of a charge, every boy rushed for the stairs.  
  
Behind them, a book was quietly closed.  
  
I hope you know this doesn't mean, he said quietly to himself as the boys stumbled up the staircase, That I at all approve of anyone else, simply because I hate the current.  
  
He smiled secretly, elegantly standing.  
  
  
  
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Peter shuddered, releasing the air from his lungs in slow, quaking breaths. He lay flat upon his back, having thrown himself tiredly onto John's neatly made bed after finally, finally having drained himself completely of the rage that had taken hold of himself.  
  
All about him, the nursery lay in shambles. The greatest disarray was near the bookcase, which he had pushed over onto its side; dozens of books, many open to reveal torn and brutally bent pages, scattered the floor. He'd thrown a glass snowglobe of the London skyline at the door, shattering it in an explosion of glitter, water and tiny flakes of rubber snow (it had reminded him cruelly of first finding the window). One of the boys' pathetic excuses for a sword, made from silver-painted wood, found itself four inches deep into the wall over Michael's bed, its handle still vibrating eerily.  
  
Peter lazily let one of his eyes grace the room, sighing dejectedly. It reminded him a little bit of the night he'd first truly invaded the nursery, the night when he had sent Tinker Bell in to search for his lost shadow. She too had knocked down books, thrown nightclothes and school uniforms all about.  
  
But no, he decided after all, it didn't really look much like a rampage of Tinker Bell. His was a thousand times worse, appearing the work of at least thirty fairies at once, all furious.  
  
He remembered the night Tink had done that.  
  
It was blurry and aged, as were all of his memories, but this particular one seemed pleasantly folded away and crumpled, like a love letter read too often. That night, he'd awoken her with his crying (though even in his memory he scarcely dared to admit it), and she had tutted cheerfully at his stupidity in trying to reattach his shadow with soap, offering instead to sew it on for him.   
  
It had hurt, he remembered, tiny pricks of pain one after the other, but her soft fingertips tickled the soles of his feet, and even as he winced he laughed, somehow put at ease by the fact of her mere presence.  
  
She'd kissed him for the first time that night, thimbled him really. She'd tricked him into believing that the tiny metal bucket was a kiss, but he knew far well now what a kiss really was.   
  
In fact, he knew so well the meaning of a kiss that he knew that their first thimble hadn't been a real one at all. It was more of a practice than anything, he reflected, but even when oblivious he had enjoyed it. Tasting her lips had sent a warm shiver up and down his spine, something he had then never before savored, nor longed for.  
  
Peter let his hands curl slowly into fists, grabbing handfuls of the blanket under him as he did so.  
  
It had all started when she'd heard him crying. She had awoken, reached out to him with her heart and help and needle and thread. She had heard him and came to him, and it was because of that that he'd decided to take her home, and it was because of that that now he lay here, cold and numb of everything.  
  
When he tore apart the nursery, it had been half out of pure, blind rage. He'd thrown things about, shattering them on walls and doors just to vent the frustration that tightened his chest, to somehow free himself from the helplessness that tied him down.  
  
He'd also done it, however, for a different, more focused reason. He knew that Wendy was in her bedroom, just a thin wall away, and for that reason he had made as much noise as he possibly could, expressed his anger and fear in a way impossible for her to ignore. He'd smashed and broken things in the hope that he would startle her, and that she would rush into the nursery to stop him.  
  
The nursery now lay in ruins. She had never come.  
  
At one point he had thrown himself against the wall that separated them, pounding on it while screaming out for her, not with her name but with the agony within himself that called for her, starved for her. He had screamed and then cried, resting his head against the wallpaper as his tears stained it, dribbled down it in warm drops.  
  
Still, she had not come. She had not made so much as a sound in return.  
  
And now, he lay on a bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He blinked as his eyes began to burn; hot tears flowed from them, rolling silently down his cheeks.  
  
It frightened him that he could not think. Usually, ideas flowed to him constantly, filling his mouth with words and his mind with plans and images instantly. Nothing would come, now. A fog the color of a wilted rose clouded his mind, letting only the vaguest whispers voice themselves.  
  
She did not love Caleb, they taunted. She'd been lying all along. It was not that she loved him that she wanted this.  
  
She'd pushed him away. She had ignored his screams of pain.  
  
Nor did she love him.  
  
Their lips had been so close ... he'd felt her breath, moist and warm, sweet.   
  
He'd wanted to kiss her. He'd wanted more than anything to kiss her.  
  
He'd wanted to touch her, claim her sweetness everywhere upon her, kiss not just her lips but her throat, her shoulders, her hands and palms and fingertips. He wanted to keep her. He wanted to know, indefinitely, that she was his.  
  
But she wanted to marry _him_. She would never be his to have.  
  
But she didn't love him. She only wants to marry him so that she can keep children, and live a life separate from her birth family.  
  
Because she can only have that if she marries, because grown-up women cannot have their own lives. They need a grown man to keep them, because ...  
  
Because the world is wrong. The world is twisted, turning, terrible, wrong.  
  
The world of growing up is horrible. He wanted to go back, go back to being ... being young. He wanted to be himself again.  
  
He wanted to stay young forever. He wanted that ... right?  
  
Yes, but no. He wanted it, but a deep part of his mind knew it had been barred from him.  
  
Because it will never be real again, his mind chanted. You can do it, you can go back to always being a boy, but never again will it be real. It will from now on be a game, a fantasy- a storybook life. It will be a facade, and it will all be spoiled because you will always know that it cannot be real.  
  
It will never be enough again.  
  
But what else could he do? Wendy would not come with him; she would not go back with him. She wanted to remain in London to become a bride, and then a wife ... a wife to a man she didn't love.  
  
A man he hated, and wanted more than his own life to slaughter.  
  
He had no choice. He could not go back to being a boy always, that was ruined for him now. He felt, not thought, that fact. But he could not be a man, because to be a man would be to surrender to the cruel rules of this suddenly clear world and ... and to be a man without Wendy ...  
  
He would be nothing.  
  
He could not be a man.  
  
He could not care for Wendy like a man would. He didn't have the things called finances, nor pounds, nor stocks, nor anything related to it. He had the leaf-clothes he'd brought with him and the handful of kisses he'd given to Wendy.  
  
He had nothing more, and he had no idea how to gain wealth in a place like London. He couldn't buy her a house, or nice things. That and, on top of it all, he had no idea where you got your own children. He'd always just found the left-behinds.  
  
Children ... hmm.  
  
Peter felt a warm sort of feeling fill his chest at the thought of children. It wasn't happiness, nor was it the terrible ache he felt in relation to Wendy, but at the same time it was ... needing. He must like children, he decided.  
  
He'd thought before that children ought never to grow, but when he had returned to the nursery and met all the boys grown older, they hadn't seemed especially unpleasant to him. He frowned; long ago, seeing them so changed would have disgusted him.  
  
It was really rather neat that they changed like that, he decided. It was a thought that calmed him somehow, made him feel as if this nature flow of things was just that ... natural.  
  
He wouldn't mind watching children grow.  
  
He knew that Wendy probably loved it, most likely adored watching it happen and perhaps occasionally helping them along.  
  
Peter smiled then, just a tiny bit, though he didn't notice.  
  
He let his mind hover on Wendy, let her shimmering image sink deeply into his mind. He pictured her just as she looked in present time, only in his thoughts she was smiling, laughing ... and her smile brightened her pale skin and set aflame her dull blue eyes, and she was beautiful, gorgeous.  
  
And in her arms ... a baby. A very small one that cooed as she rocked it back and forth tenderly, carefully. She smiled down at it, letting it clutch one of her slender fingers.  
  
A hand descended, a great hand that rested on her shoulder. She turned her head, smiling at its owner. He stepped into the bright scene out of wavering darkness.  
  
Peter's glazed-over eyes widened, darkening with fear. _No_.  
  
He kissed her cheek, smiling down too at the baby.  
_  
No ... no, please, not ... not him ...  
  
_He reached out, letting the baby clutch his thick finger instead. It laughed, and so did Wendy, the sound of it resonating beautifully through his mind.  
  
_No_, Peter's mind raced. His heart clenched painfully, the blood within him suddenly flowing slow and thick. He blinked his burning eyes, letting warm tears fall. The warmth that had moments ago flooded his breast shattered, exploding into cold, sharp fragments of glass.  
  
He remembered this. This was Hook's warning.  
  
This was what had broken him years ago. This was the one fear he'd managed to shove down and forget over the past years. This was his fear of a threat he had always before been able to ignore, and now it was upon him ...  
  
A husband.  
  
Not him, Peter whimpered, turning onto his side and curling into a tight ball as he began to cry. He wasn't sure why, but it had been such a nice image, such a warm, nice idea ... and then ... and then he had to enter it ...  
  
But he was _supposed_ to be there, wasn't he? That was the plan, wasn't it?  
  
It was not his dream to have, after all. It would never be his.  
  
Peter shut his eyes hard, forcing out salty tears even as new ones flowed to replace them. It would never be his. It would never be his.  
  
It would never be his.  
  
He pushed his knees deeply into his stomach, crying out as his heart clenched with pain.  
_  
Never_.  
  
  
  
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-- End Chapter Eighteen --  
  
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** Ending Notes**: Yeah, it only took me ... ahh ... _how _long exactly to get this out? Probably like a month ... heh ... heh, I'm sorry! I know, it's wrong of me, but ... ahh ... I don't know, my life has just been so ... rushed and sad and complicated. That and I was on vacation for two weeks.  
  
This chapter ... mmm ... it came out differently than I had anticipated. It was just very angsty. I'm eager to write the chapter after the next two chapters, very eager in fact, because according to my CTL that chapter will be very, very interesting. Kind of a shocker, really, something that might end up being just a _tiny_ bit exciting.  
  
It's not angst, either.  
  
And in the chapters before that one, more of Caleb's snakelike charms will be revealed. I don't know if anyone was wondering just _why_ he's been so approved by Mr. Darling, or if anyone still remembered that one letter he gave him many chapters back but ... yes! You will find out.  
  
In conclusion, thanks so much to everyone. I love you all, and I'm very sorry it took me so long to get this one out. I'll try to be faster this next time. Thanks to everyone who reviewed even while I was away. Love to you! Please come back for the next chapter!


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